


The Mind, the Memory, and the Demon

by Mahla



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Angst, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Between the Scenes, Canon Continuation, Crowley to the rescue, Demonic Influence, Demons, Fluff, Ghost Hunters, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Memories, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Possession, Slow-ish burn, Sort Of, moments in history, travelling through memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22020037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahla/pseuds/Mahla
Summary: After the Armageddon-that-wasn't, Crowley has found himself a new hobby: scaring ghost hunters, sowing mild discord, harmless fun.But when an old castle turns out to be an actual demon's lair, and a new Principality seeks Aziraphale for advice on humanity, things start escalating rapidly. An ancient demon is a threat they weren't prepared to face, and eventually the only chance to save a certain former Guard of the Eastern Gate is to literally dive into his mind and traverse his memories from times past...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 110
Kudos: 163





	1. A New Pastime

Crowley stood in front of the massive castle, illuminated only by the faint light of the partly veiled moon. The moors were silent, apart from the gentle breeze that occasionally wound its way across the lands, only to hit the hard stone of the building and circle around it, forming tiny gusts that lifted up the leaves long since dropped by the trees which now spread their naked boughs ominously over the scenery.

Crowley rather liked the view. It had a definite sense of days gone by, and history was oozing out of every crack and crevice. He had visited the castle some centuries ago, when it had been in the last throes of its prime. He remembered the light in the windows, the luscious garden, and the scandalous parties that had gone on more often than not. The opulence. The gluttony. The greed. The lust.

Now, the place was decrepit, abandoned, and cold. It had seen a fair share of depressions, wars, and misfortune, and had stood abandoned for about a hundred years. Well, nobody had lived there for two hundred, but it had still had a caretaker a century ago. Now, though, it stood all on its own. Crowley supposed someone somewhere still owned it, but couldn’t be bothered to take care of it. Probably very expensive to own a castle in these times, especially if it was just property handed down to you as inheritance; Crowley was sure the owner was the last remnant of the family who’d lived in the castle for decades, centuries, but probably now had a little condo in London and cared more about being a modern socialite than a castle owner.

Crowley stuffed his shades into his pocket. He could see well enough with them on, but they felt quite unnecessary here in the dark, when he was on his own and there were no other people within miles. He eyed the castle, its cracked windows and crumbled roofing, ivy that had climbed over walls and windows, wood that had broken and chipped.

He sauntered forward and the massive front doors opened with a creak at the snap of his fingers. 

It was no warmer indoors than outdoors. There was a very obvious draft. He took in the front hall; big and spacious. A couple of empty beer cans in the corner. A bit of graffiti here or there. He frowned in annoyance; drunks and teens, there was no place safe from them. He continued on and went through all the rooms one by one, creating a mental map for himself. There was furniture still left, items from every decade since the castle had been inhabited. Most of it was in poor condition and ravaged by age, weather, and rodents, but it was quite impressive, in its way. 

He disturbed some pigeons on the top floor, and decided not to go further; the attic had a wooden floor, and would in no shape or form hold anything heavier than a bird or a few.

The cellars were interesting. The wine cellar had been impressive at its prime and Crowley remembered it fondly, but now it was sadly empty. There were multiple storage rooms and some that had been converted into maintenance by the last inhabitants. There were even cells still there, bars and locks rusted, but there nonetheless. 

There was a well, too. Just a pit of darkness with no railing or cover, a mere black hole in a small room. Crowley peered down into it, and it felt… a bit different from the rest of the castle. This well had a whole history of its own, he could tell. What it was, he had no idea, but something non-human had once left its mark here.

Back outside, Crowley put on his shades once more and glanced back at the castle before striding to his Bentley. Yes, this place was optimal. It was already creepy, and he suspected he wouldn’t even need to do much - anyone who entered that place was bound to creep themselves out without any demonic interception.

Ever since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, Crowley had found himself at a wholly new situation in his existence: not knowing what to do with his time.

Sure, he filled his days with whatever: encouraging his plants to do better, driving around aimlessly, sleeping for the hell of it, sauntering around watching people and sowing a bit of discord if the mood struck. He and Aziraphale had begun seeing each other more often now that nobody - apparently - cared whether they were fraternizing or not. They’d usually meet up once a week for lunch, or dinner, or a nightcap - sometimes all three. It felt a bit strange, still, since they were so used to being careful and secretive, and they were trying to find a good balance.

With no pressure from Heaven or Hell anymore, there was nothing he or the angel had to do. Aziraphale had slipped into a routine with remarkable ease. He had his books, his restaurants, his walks. Sometimes he’d spend an entire week engrossed in something, like restoring a book, or reading one, two, a dozen, and was more than happy to tell Crowley all about it. Not only that, but his life hadn’t actually changed that much, as far as Crowley could tell. He still strived to do good in the world; still performed the odd miracle or two, improving the lives of those around him. It seemed he was going for the title of Nicest Man on Earth, just by being who he was. Without any demand from Heaven, he simply helped who he wanted, not caring if it was a part of a big, ineffable plan.

Crowley envied him for it. Aziraphale had always been inherently good, and as far as Crowley was concerned, he was the _only_ good angel out there. What he’d witnessed during his brief visit to Heaven had solidified his theory that the rest of the angels were no better than their fallen brethren, and that Aziraphale truly was the best, the kindest, the most _angelic_ of them all. Michael and the rest, well… they were nothing but holier-than-thou bastards and Crowley was shocked they were still allowed to hang out in Heaven.

That was why it was so easy for Aziraphale to continue his life without Heaven, Crowley supposed: he had never been one of them, in the sense that they wanted. He kept doing what he’d always done, because it was in his personality. He didn’t have to hold back on doing the right thing just because Heaven had decided that a misery or two should befall humankind. He just… went on with it, radiating such pure kindness and love that Crowley was honestly surprised the humans didn’t go blind at the sight.

As for Crowley, well. He was under no pressure to wreak havoc or cause discord among anyone anymore. Nobody needed or wanted a report, nobody needed him to fill a quota of mischief. He didn’t have to take credit for the atrocities humans were quite capable of committing themselves, and he didn’t need to incite anything. 

Then, what did he need to do? It rubbed him the wrong way to start doing _good_ things; no matter how far he’d drifted from Hell, he was still a demon, and it wasn’t something he could just stop being. But he didn’t necessarily want to cause serious mayhem, either, or claim souls for Satan. Why would he? There was nothing in it for him anymore.

And therefore, aside from spending time with Aziraphale, he’d taken up a hobby: messing around with humans in ways which weren’t good, or evil - just things which were harrowing but in the end, not damaging.

And once he’d discovered ghost hunting channels on the internet, he knew he’d found a gold mine.

It was such a delight. He’d find out where whichever ghost hunter group was going to go next, scout the place out in advance, and he’d join them - without them ever knowing he was there, of course. He was the cold breeze that passed them in the hallway, the silent knock on the walls, the creak in the darkness. He was the sudden drop in temperature, the disturbance in the microphone, the vague blotch in the heat camera, the unintelligible whisper just behind them.

Crowley revelled in their reactions, the cold sweats, the fear, the screams, the underlying thrill and joy they felt when they found their evidence. What he did always depended on how he felt about the group. Annoying, arrogant people would get a much nastier experience, but less results; less annoying people would be left less horrified, but gain more substantial evidence.

It was still not very good evidence, but Crowley had found that the bar for credible evidence wasn’t that high in these circles.

He hadn’t told Aziraphale of any of this, not yet, at least. He had a feeling the angel might disapprove of his pastime, though it wasn’t evil at all, and he thought he might even find it funny. Maybe he could be convinced to come along, some time. Most ghost hunters worked at night, though, and Aziraphaple had always been a firm believer that nights were meant for reading a good book with a warm cup of tea, sitting comfortably in an armchair, and wrapped in a soft blanket.

Crowley watched Aziraphaple finish his dessert and let out a satisfied sigh.

“The new chef is absolutely superb,” the angel smiled at him happily. “I feel almost guilty for doubting!”

Crowley grinned. For a few weeks now, the angel had been very upset because the head chef at his favourite bistro had moved away and been replaced by _someone else_. Crowley had never really understood what the fuss was about - he could hardly tell a good chef from a slightly-less good one. Then again, he wasn’t such a great lover of food as Aziraphale was.

“Told you not to worry,” Crowley smirked. The angel’s eyes crinkled happily.

“You told me to ‘suck it up,’ and said that ‘the new guy’ would probably be just fine,” the angel pursed his lips, but couldn’t contain a smile. “Oh, you were very right,” he hummed.

“Always am.”

Aziraphale tutted at him playfully and finished his tea. Their lunch had come to an end, and it had become an unspoken rule for them to take a little walk in the park after. 

The sun burned hot and bright for the season, but the nights were getting to be quite cold; autumn had decided not to be thwarted by some arrogant ball of gas in the sky.

“What would you say to a late dinner at The Ritz today?” Aziraphale suggested brightly. “I have some errands to run in the afternoon - a man in Clerkenwell claims to have some very interesting first editions of Poe that he’s acquired from his late aunt, and he insists I meet him there. But after that, I have all the time in the world.”

He smiled at Crowley in a way which made his insides lurch. Dinner at The Ritz sounded great, as always, and they _did_ have all the time in the world, now. But…

“Sorry, angel, I’ve got plans for the night,” he shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to sound like this was a common occurrence. In the past, the ghost hunter gigs had rarely coincided with their plans together.

“Oh,” Aziraphale’s face fell, but he still managed to maintain a polite smile. “That’s alright, my dear. I can go by myself, of course, and if the first editions are any good, I’ll probably be too engrossed in them to be good company, anyway.”

They kept walking leisurely onwards, the smile frozen on the angel’s face. Crowley gave him a sideways glance. It was obvious he had really wanted to have dinner, and either complain or gush about the first editions of the man from Clerkenwell. The angel was disappointed, and Crowley hated to be the cause of that.

Aziraphale didn’t ask what plans he had. He chattered on about the ducks in the ponds, the breeze in the wind, the winter he claimed to smell in the air already, never dropping his cheerful tone. Crowley walked by his side and listened. To someone else, the angel would have sounded quite normal, but he knew better. 

“You could come along, you know,” Crowley suggested in the middle of Aziraphale’s ponderings about whether there would be snowfall before Christmas.

“... for Christmas?” the angel looked confused.

“No, angel, tonight,” Crowley groaned. He saw Aziraphale brighten at once, despite not even knowing what the plan was.

“Oh, well,” he sounded far more happy than he ought to. “If it’s no bother, I- I really don’t want to impose, I know you like your privacy…”

Crowley raised a brow at this. 

“Do you want to come or not?”

Aziraphale stopped walking. “Well,” he fidgeted and fixed an anxious look on him, “do you want me to come?”

Crowley stared at him, motionless. He hadn’t expected this question. Somehow he had always imagined that if one invited the other along, he wanted the other to be there. Aziraphale looked hesitant and even a bit worried, and Crowley realised the angel though he’d invited him along out of pity. 

“If I didn’t want you there, I wouldn’t have asked you.”

Aziraphale smiled radiantly, and something swelled in Crowley’s chest.

“Well, in that case, I would be- um, what exactly _are_ your plans for tonight?” Suddenly he looked a bit suspicious.

Crowley grinned wide. As they walked around the park, he told the angel what he’d been up to. He watched Aziraphale’s expressions go from shocked to bemused to disapproving and back again.

“Still want to come?” he asked when he’d finished. The angel bit his lip and watched a magpie picking clean a hamburger wrapping.

“Is it… is it strictly speaking… nice?” Aziraphale hazarded a worried look at him. Crowley scoffed.

“Told you before, I don’t do nice. And it’s not _bad_ either, now is it?”

The angel hesitated, and suddenly Crowley was adamant that he would come along.

“It’s just a bit of fun,” he shrugged. “It’s not good, it’s not evil, and in a way, it’s exactly what those people want, anyway. Proof of the supernatural.”

“But no one will believe them, surely,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Those will who already want to believe,” Crowley hummed. “So nothing changes. And besides… those guys go into some very old and very hazardous places. Could use a guardian angel.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked a bit pained. “Crowley,” he said softly. “I’m not… I don’t think…” he glanced to the sky meaningfully. Crowley scoffed at the thought.

“They don’t care, _they_ don’t care,” he motioned vaguely to the ground, “and you shouldn’t care, either. Just do what you think is right. Like you’ve done for so long already.”

He held the angel’s gaze, saw uncertainty and curiosity, and a tiny remnant of duty, battling behind those bright eyes, until Aziraphale turned away with a little smile.

“You’re right,” he nodded. “They might need someone to watch over them. Especially when there might be ghouls and demons about.”

“Oh, there most certainly will be,” Crowley chuckled. “They’re in for a treat tonight! And so are you.”

Aziraphale looked like he had no idea whether to be excited or horrified by the prospect.


	2. Hunt a Ghost, Find a Demon

“Okay guys, we’re here at Maple Hill castle, and as you can see, it’s pretty damn impressive,” a young man explained animatedly to his friend, who was filming with a small camera. “Really big, really abandoned.”

“Multiple sightings have been reported here. I can just imagine seeing a shape in the window,” grinned a young woman, looking at the camera.

“Mate, I’m going to flip if that happens,” laughed another young man.

“Why are they talking to the camera so much?” Aziraphale muttered. He was already a bit frumpy about being out so late, and because it was cold and dark, and they had had to leave the car so far and  _ walk _ . Crowley and him were standing nearby, watching the group of humans as they set up their things and planned the excursion. They would not notice them, and as far as they knew, they were by themselves.

“They’re going to put all this on the internet,” Crowley replied. 

“Why?”

“Fame and fortune?” Crowley shrugged. “Humans do weird stuff all the time.”

“That they do,” the angel replied. “So… how do you usually…?”

“I don’t like to barge in at once,” Crowley explained. “I let them get a feel of the place first, do a bit of exploring and giggle at the penis graffiti. I start subtle, so maybe, I don’t know, a little creak on the staircase when they’ve just left it.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “To make it seem as if something is following them?”

“You’re good at this,” Crowley grinned. “That’s exactly it. Little things like that - things that could be nothing at all, but because they’re already creeped out and on edge, it’ll be so much more powerful.”

Aziraphale shuddered as he looked up at the imposing castle.

“I used to come here a few centuries ago,” he murmured, and Crowley raised his brows.

“Oh?”

“I liked the lord of the castle back in the 1700s,” the angel smiled softly at his memory. “He was very kind, but very frail. So selfless. I did my best for him.”

Crowley studied his face, the blue eyes lost in a fond memory, a hint of sadness reflected in them. Crowley thought he had also met the man in question, but said nothing. Might have tempted his son to elope with a peasant girl, which might have resulted in the old lord getting ever frailer. Aziraphale didn’t need to know.

“Look, they’re going in!” the angel gasped suddenly, having snapped out of the memory, grabbing Crowley’s arm in sudden excitement. “What do we do?”

“We relax, angel,” Crowley smirked. Aziraphale came to his senses, glanced at his hand still on Crowley’s arm, and let go abruptly. The angel fussed awkwardly with his coat collar, trying to regain his composure, visibly embarrassed by his over-excited reaction.

“Come on, let’s go see how spooked they already are,” Crowley began striding towards the entrance; the humans were already inside. The angel followed him wordlessly.

As Crowley had expected, the young humans were filming the entrance hall, commenting on the creepiness of the place, and giggling at the graffiti. One of them seriously announced he felt an oppressive presence, and was sure that there was someone there with them; Crowley snorted in amusement.

“Well, he’s not wrong,” Aziraphale noted, clasping his hands behind his back and glancing at him pointedly.

“Yeah, but he can’t sense me,” Crowley scoffed. “I’ve seen their videos, he does this every time. Gets a spooky feeling - which is him being scared - and claims it’s evidence of ghosts. I’ll bet you anything he’s gonna do it again and again.”

“Are you sure it’s unfounded?” the angel observed the man, and glanced around the darkness of the hall, lit only by the humans’ lights.

“Very,” Crowley said. “I was here last night. Definitely no ghosts around. Though…” he sucked his teeth as he remembered the well in the cellar.

“Though what?” Aziraphale frowned, now concerned.

“Nothing,” Crowley tried to dismiss the whole thing. “Something funny about the cellar, we’ll get to it later. But no ghosts.”

The angel didn’t look convinced, but let it slide. The humans were slowly approaching the grand staircase.

“That girl is called Harriet,” Crowley explained to Aziraphale, unasked but not unwanted. “The camera guy is Wes. The loud guy is called Ron, and the other guy is Monkey.”

“ _ Monkey? _ ”

“Don’t ask me,” Crowley raised his palms. “Not like I cared enough to go through all their material online to find out his actual name, or why they call him that.”

The humans ascended the stone staircase slowly and carefully, taking in the abandoned grandness of it and the creepiness of said abandoned grandness. The angel and the demon followed them unseen.

“A stone staircase,” Aziraphale hummed. “Can’t really make that creak ominously.”

“No,” Crowley admitted and watched the humans reach the top of the stairs. “But I can do this.”

And suddenly, a small chunk of the stairs became loose about half-way up, and bounced down, echoing on the walls as it went. The humans all turned to look, and stared, frozen, for the whole duration of the chunk’s descent. It landed, rolled a bit, and stopped. Aziraphale had his hands clasped behind his back, and Crowley smirked at the humans’ expressions.

“What the fuck, mate?” Ron laughed nervously.

“We probably chipped that loose,” Harriet suggested.

“She’s supposed to be the skeptical one,” Crowley explained to the angel. “She’s terrible at it. They all want to believe.”

The humans made a big show of the thing for the camera, and Wes even went back a bit to film the spot where the chunk had come loose.

“So,” Aziraphale said as he watched the young humans grin in glee and fear, “what is it they want to accomplish? You said they’re hunting for ghosts?”

“Or demons, or other supernatural beings.”

“And if they should find any…?”

Crowley shrugged. “Film it for evidence.”

Aziraphale blinked. “So they don’t actually want to capture or banish ghosts at all?”

“Well, capture them on camera, sure,” Crowley crossed his arms with a smirk. “But otherwise,  _ nooo _ . As if they had any equipment for that. It’s just a bit of fun, you know? A nice thrill, a rush of adrenaline.”

“That’s terrible,” Aziraphale mused worriedly. “If they  _ did  _ find a demon set out to harm them… there’s nothing they could do.”

“Yeah.”

They followed the humans as they went on their way, filming the walls and windows, rooms and destroyed tapestries.

Crowley made a torn curtain flutter a bit in the distance, inciting a few ‘whoas’ from the humans.

“It’s not hard to spook them,” Aziraphale commented.

“No,” Crowley agreed. “They’re already tense, and as I said, they want to believe. They want to find something, and even if I did absolutely nothing, their minds would still come up with the evidence.”

Aziraphale nodded. “The power of suggestion and imagination.”

The humans went on their merry way, getting more and more anxious and giggly by every passing moment. They spent a long while sitting quietly in a room with a recording microphone, during which Aziraphale filled Crowley in with more details of the first edition deal he’d had earlier - turned out to be counterfeits.

They leaned on the wall, watching the humans sitting in silence, their hearts hammering almost audibly.

“Why do they assume there would be ghosts here?” the angel wondered.

“Eh, old place, dark and scary, people have died here,” Crowley shrugged. “They think there are spirits everywhere, really.”

“That is… a very silly thought.”

Crowley laughed out loud, and the humans’ microphone registered a tiny little spike that made their eyes widen.

“Yeah, the odds of them actually coming across one are astronomical. There’s no way in Hell or Heaven that we’d just leave a soul roaming free.”

“Indeed,” Aziraphale huffed. “Our Lost Souls department would be on it within minutes.”

“Leaving ghosts around is such a waste,” Crowley shook his head. 

“Souls that belong to neither Heaven or Hell,” Aziraphale nodded. “Can’t the humans see why it would be… illogical for ghosts to exist in abundance?”

“I don’t think they think that far.”

The humans were done sitting around, and moved on. They kept the microphone on for a while, but turned it off as they entered what had once been a master bedroom.

And then they turned on a radio, skipping through channels far too quickly to catch more than a syllable or two from the stations, a bit of music here and there, and kept asking the white noise questions like, “Who is here with us?” or, “Can you move that chair?”

“I hate that thing,” Crowley grumbled.

“It does make an infernal noise.”

“They claim ghosts can speak to them through that.”

“But it’s just… a radio?” Aziraphale looked thoroughly confused.

“Yeah.”

Crowley had had enough, and intercepted the radio waves, inserting two words -  _ shut  _ and  _ up  _ into it, sending the humans into a gleeful frenzy once more.

“You do realise you’re enforcing their belief in the credibility of their methods with this,” Aziraphale mused as they sauntered after the gang along the hallways.

“Well, the fact that I can do it kind of proves that the stuff works,” Crowley grinned. “Just not in they way they think it does.”

The ghost hunters were heading back downstairs now, and while they were descending the stairs, Crowley let out a soft whistle in the hallway. It was faint, and one could argue it sounded like a bird, or the wind, but the humans froze and laughed nervously with one another once more.

“They are very much on edge,” Aziraphale commented, watching the youngsters in almost a fatherly fashion.

“And they love it,” Crowley grinned. “Want to try?”

“What? Scaring them?” Aziraphale looked appalled. “I would never!”

“You’d be doing them a favour, honestly,” Crowley argued. “They live for this stuff.”

“No, thank you,” the angel huffed. “I’d rather not.”

“Suit yourself. Watch this.”

And Crowley strode over to Wes, who was trailing behind the others to film them all. He stood right behind the man, and gently blew on his neck.

Wes spun around, immediately getting the attention of the others. Unknowingly, he was staring right into Crowley’s eyes, but all he could see was darkness.

“Guys, I swear something just touched my neck,” he said, “like a breeze or… something.”

“There is a draft,” Harriet suggested, but everyone could see she didn’t think so.

Crowley returned to Aziraphale, smiling widely. The angel tried to look disapproving, but ended up merely shaking his head in a kind of amused way.

The humans descended to the cellar, and immediately commented on how weird it made them feel and how there was definitely something off about the place. Crowley strode in right after them, but paused when he noticed the angel wasn’t by his side anymore. He turned to look behind, and saw Aziraphale walking towards him almost hesitantly, a frown on his face.

“What?”

“There’s something…” he muttered to himself. “It feels different than the rest of the castle.”

Crowley wasn’t sure what to think about that. He waited for Aziraphale to catch up, and they followed the humans. They were exploring the old maintenance rooms and going towards the cells, on the opposite side of the cellar than the well. 

“I think we should let them do that,” Crowley decided, “and I’ll show you the well in the meantime. You know. Just to… make sure.”

Aziraphale looked at him quizzically, and Crowley led him deeper into the cellar. The angel’s reaction at the entrance had given him pause, and he thought it was best the two of them checked out the well before the humans got there. 

The nearer they drew to the pit, the slower the angel walked.

“Oh, oh no,” he muttered as he walked closer and closer. “No, this does not feel right at all. Crowley, what is down here?”

“It’s just a well,” he replied, but wasn’t sure about the truth of the statement at all. He had felt there was something a bit different about the well, but the angel’s reaction spoke volumes.

“Not just a well, no…” Aziraphale breathed, and halted his steps at the edge of the black pit, gazing down into the darkness below. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath - to steady himself, Crowley noticed. Instinctively, he edged a bit closer to the angel so that their arms were subtly touching.

“Sooo,” Crowley broke the heavy silence. “Not just a well, then?”

“No,” Aziraphale said in a huskier voice than normal, opening his eyes and finding Crowley’s in the dark. “Terrible things have happened here. And there is… a demonic aura, so to speak.”

“Well, you  _ are  _ with  _ me _ ,” Crowley suggested, trying not to feel hurt; if demonic things caused this much discomfort to the angel, how could he stand his presence at all?

“No, dear,” Aziraphale gave him a brief smile. “I know you. I know the way you feel- I mean, this is most definitely not you. This is… this is not  _ good _ .”

_ I’m not good _ , Crowley wanted to jest, but knew now was not the time. Aziraphale was genuinely disturbed, and it made him uneasy. 

“The humans should not come here,” the angel said, but it was too late - they were already coming, their voices hushed, nervous whispers.

“Guys, what the hell is that?” Ron said, shining a torch on the pit.

“Looks like an old well,” Harriet’s voice was a bit strained. “Careful, there’s no cover or anything.”

Wes went a bit forward to film, and Ron held onto his jacket just in case. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a small voice. “I really would rather not have them here.”

“I’m sure they’ll leave soon,” he replied, not quite understanding why it was so urgent; he didn’t feel that weird about it, but could see the angel’s discomfort and sensed how anxious the humans suddenly were.

“Whoa, that’s deep,” Ron whispered. “Sends chills down the spine.”

“Yeah,” Harriet breathed. “Okay, time to leave.”

Ron and Wes mumbled in agreement, but Monkey stood still, staring at the pit. His fists were balled, and he was shaking slightly. Crowley could see cold sweat forming on his brows.

“Monkey? Mate?” Ron called, patting his friend on the shoulder. “Time to go.”

But Monkey would not hear them. His eyes were on the well, and he began shaking his head slowly. His overall shaking got worse, and he fell on his knees, wrapped his arms around himself, and began sobbing in quiet panic. His friends were immediately alarmed, and looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

“Monkey, come on,” Ron said. “It’s okay, we’ll leave. Mate?”

“Is he having a panic attack or something?” Harriet sounded a bit panicked, herself. “Monkey, hey, look at me!”

She tried to pull him up, but Monkey was lost in his own world, muttering something unintelligible between his sobs, rocking in his place, arms around his knees, eyes fixed on the well. His friends were starting to panic, too, and Crowley had no idea what was going on.

Suddenly he was almost blinded by a light, and realised Aziraphale had brought out his wings, and seemed to be glowing with illumination which came from nowhere but was everywhere. He blinked, and watched the angel kneel by the oblivious human, his friends unknowingly giving him space. 

Aziraphale spread his pure white wings and shielded Monkey from the well, obscuring the man’s view; and although he couldn’t see the angel, his eyes shifted slightly. Aziraphale reached out and touched the top of the man’s head gently, holding his hand there and speaking soothingly to him:

“It’ll be alright, child. The darkness cannot harm you, I will protect you, and nothing will touch you.”

He repeated this a few more times, and Monkey seemed to snap out of it enough to tear his eyes away from the well, and let his friends hoist him back on his feet and walk him out. The gang wasted no time leaving the area, Harriet glancing fearfully back at the pit in the floor.

Aziraphale sighed and tucked his wings away; Crowley stared.

“Just what the-”

“Could we perhaps leave, as well?” the angel said, a strain in his voice, eyes pleading. Crowley merely nodded, and they once again followed the humans.

Outside, Aziraphale drew a deep, though unnecessary, breath. The humans were quiet, the camera turned off, Monkey still shivering slightly, repeating, “I’m okay, I’m okay” to his friends. They packed their things, and Crowley watched them walk slowly to their car, leaving the imposing castle swiftly behind.

“Okay,” Crowley crossed his arms and turned to Aziraphale. “What was that about? A sudden display of angelic power?”

“That place is not  _ right _ ,” Aziraphale huffed. “That… that well is not right.”

“Did you notice anything wrong when you were last here?” Crowley asked as they began walking away, too.

“I don’t think so,” the angel replied. “Then again, I didn’t spend time in the cellar back in the day. The rest of the castle felt quite normal.”

To make up for the loss of a comfortable evening at home, Crowley bought his angel dinner at a local pub. It was not quite the Ritz, nor did they have a selection of champagnes to choose from, but after a hearty portion of homey shepherd’s pie and a large cup of tea, Aziraphale was mostly soothed.

Crowley had watched him eat, having only a pint of stout himself. He hadn’t asked any questions, and the angel was clearly mulling things over by his meal, anyway; it wasn’t too common for him to be so silent, but when he was, Crowley let him.

“So,” Crowley broke the silence when Aziraphale set down his fork and cradled his cup of tea. “Care to tell me more about what happened?”

“Did you honestly not feel it?” the angel frowned at him. “It was so… present.”

“What was?” Crowley sucked his teeth in annoyance. “I’m telling you, it felt a bit different, but that’s it. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

The angel hummed and tilted his head in thought. “Perhaps it’s because that kind of presence would be normal to you. You know, what with the… stuff down there.”

He glanced briefly towards the ground, and Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he griped. “I get you. Yes, I could tell that it wasn’t quite of this…  _ plane _ .” He took a sip of his drink.

“More than that,” Aziraphale shuddered. “There was something very ancient about that well. About that… presence.”

“Well, if all it does is make humans go a bit weak at the knees, I don’t see why we should worry too much,” Crowley shrugged. “Not like the place is buzzing with people, anyway.” Aziraphale looked at him disapprovingly.

“But it could be a gateway to… to something thoroughly unpleasant!”

“If it was a gateway to Hell, I’d  _ know _ ,” Crowley scoffed. “They don’t just leave those lying around.”

“Be it as it may,” Aziraphale patted his lips with a napkin, “it shouldn’t be there.”

“Yeah, well, can’t be helped,” Crowley chugged the rest of his stout and got up. “Home?”

In the car, Aziraphale was clearly still anxious about the well. He kept glancing at Crowley, who kept speeding up at unconventional times and skidding along the bends in the road just for the sake of it.

“You know,” the angel said, followed by an undignified squeak at an especially nasty turn, “something really needs to be done before someone gets hurt.”

“I don’t need driving lessons. There’s barely anything here to hit, anyway.”

“About the well!”

“Angel,” Crowley groaned. “We  _ just  _ got excused from meddling with things, and now you want to meddle anyway?”

“It’s not meddling, it’s…” he tried to find words. “Helping.”

“Just leave it be,” Crowley suggested very strongly. “It’s got nothing to do with us, nobody’s asking us to do anything, and there’s probably nothing you can do about it, anyway.”

“I still think-”

“You’re welcome to stick your nose down that hole all you want,” Crowley grumbled, “but leave me out of it.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and said nothing of it for the rest of the ride.


	3. Principalities

Aziraphale was doing his very best not to sell a single book as the few hopeless customers eyed his shelves. He was considering closing shop for the day - it was almost noon, for goodness’ sake - when the bell on the front door chimed for the fourth time that day.

He held back a disgruntled sigh and raised his gaze from his book, greeting the customer with a pleasant (but not  _ too  _ pleasant, so as not to give the wrong impression, after all), smile. The customer’s bright green eyes became even brighter as he flashed an almost relieved smile back. He fiddled with his white scarf draped over his white coat - very nice make, Aziraphale noted - and glanced around the shop.

“Welcome,” Aziraphale greeted. While he wasn’t fond of customers, this young man looked like he was lost, more than anything. His auburn curls danced just above his shoulders as he turned his head around in wonder, and Aziraphale began to feel like he should know this man.

“Can I help you?” he asked, politely. The man jolted, and directed his wide eyes on him again.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I’m- I’m new here, you see, and…”

He didn’t continue the sentence, though Aziraphale waited kindly. The silence got awkward.

“I’m sure there are tourist shops that sell maps,” Aziraphale offered. “Perhaps around the corner…?”

“No!” the man looked horrified. “No, I- I’m pretty sure I’m in the right place.” He glanced at the other customers and took a few long strides across the shop, stopping right in front of Aziraphale and looking at him in a nervously conspiratory way.

“You… you  _ are  _ the former Principality Aziraphale, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale didn’t know what hit him most - the fact that the man knew who he was, the fact that he was clearly of the same stock, or that word;  _ former _ . All of a sudden, he was on the defence. Had Heaven finally come for him, figured out his and Crowley’s little trick?

“Yes?” Aziraphale replied quietly. “Can I help you?” he said it in a tone which suggested that he wasn’t interested in helping in the least.

“Nithael,” the young man said breathlessly, placing a hand over his chest in introduction. “Principality.”

A strange sort of numbness ran through Aziraphale’s body. He stared at the man, glanced at the customers, raised his finger at Nithael, excusing himself, and hurried and called to the others, “Closing time, thank you very much! Yes, open again at some other point in time, do come again! Thank you, goodbye.”

After not-so-discreetly ushering the humans out of his shop and flipping the sign on the door to  _ Closed _ , he turned back to Nithael. The man was still standing where Aziraphale had left him, still fidgeting with this scarf.

“Tea?” Aziraphale offered. 

The tea soothed Aziraphale’s nerves as he breathed in the delicious steam rising from his cup. Nithael was staring at his own questioningly. Seated in the backroom, they hadn’t exchanged many words. Aziraphale had left the other angel alone while busying with the tea, trying to gather his thoughts. Nithael didn’t seem hostile, but how could one tell, these days? He certainly didn’t have any of that horrible smarminess the archangels had started oozing of late, but… why was he here?

“So,” Nithael frowned at his tea. “Why does one drink this…?”

“It’s good,” Aziraphale replied, unable to prevent a little bit of testiness seeping into his voice. He remembered Gabriel’s irrational hatred of sushi. 

“Hm,” Nithael placed the cup down carefully and turned to watch Aziraphale, instead. 

Aziraphale took a sip, and avoided looking back as long as he could, but there was no going around it. They’d have to talk. About what, he didn’t know, but Nithael had come looking for him, and he was bound to have a reason.

“How is Heaven?” Aziraphale asked with a smile which he hoped betrayed nothing.

“Oh,” Nithael straightened himself and fidgeted, again. “Good. I mean… good. They, uh… well, they sent me here.”

Aziraphale stared. Nithael looked increasingly uncomfortable under his gaze.

“I mean,” he continued. “There was a vacancy.” His smile faded as he saw how unamused Aziraphale was.

“Was there?”

“Well,” the young angel looked nervous. “Since they… since you…” he motioned with his hands, as if the other was supposed to know exactly what he meant. He didn’t.

“Are you here in my place?” Aziraphale asked completely calmly. Nithael swallowed.

“In a sense,” he nodded. “They’re… they’re not calling you back, since… well, since all that stuff that happened. I don’t think they know what to do.” He seemed to realise he’d said too much, cleared his throat, and went on hurriedly. “Anyway, you’re not obligated to report back, and they’re not assigning you to anything, but  _ someone  _ has to continue the good work.”

“You.”

“Me,” Nithael smiled in a way which told Aziraphale the angel was in way over his head and knew it.

“Well,” Aziraphale put on his kindest smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Nithael replied, and fidgeted. “The thing is…” he looked around, everywhere but at Aziraphale. “Why I came, it’s… I don’t understand them.” He said it with such breathless desperation that Aziraphale didn’t know whether to laugh at him or pity him.

“What do you mean, dear boy?”

“Humans!” he exclaimed hopelessly. “I’m an archivist! A scholar! I know a lot of theory about miracles and the like, but not about  _ humans _ . How am I supposed to keep them on the right path when I have  _ no idea _ why they do anything they do?”

“It’s just something you need to learn, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale smiled, this time genuinely, but wondering why Heaven had sent someone so… unprepared. “They’re complex creatures, and it will take a while to get used to them, I’m sure.”

“I can’t fathom how,” Nithael looked almost teary. “You’ve been here with them from the very beginning, Aziraphale, you’ve seen them grow and learn and, and…”

He buried his face in his hands in an exaggerated show of despair, and Aziraphale’s heart grew fonder. Nithael was right. He had been there from the start, he’d seen the highs and the lows, the workings of the Plan, the failures of it. He couldn’t imagine being dropped on Earth  _ now _ , with the humans having grown and evolved and learned  _ so  _ much in their collectively long existence. He was exhausted by the bare idea of it.

“Take it step by step,” Aziraphale comforted the angel. “You can’t possibly know everything at once. How long have you been here?”

“Five months,” Nithael mumbled into his palms. “And I’ve tried to do good for them, but they’ve called me names, and they’ve been suspicious of me, and when I tried a miracle, it just backfired.”

“How so?”

“I noticed one neighbour was poorer than the others,” Nithael looked at him mournfully. “So I did a little miracle, had him win a bit of money so that he’d be on par with them and not feel envious. And he… Aziraphale, he used it all on… on…”

“On what?”

“Narcotics and loose women,” Nithael groaned and sank his face into his hands again.

“Oh, dear boy,” Aziraphale couldn’t contain his amused smile, but luckily the other angel wasn’t watching. “Humans are so very complex. But you know, being a Principality here isn’t only about doing good for the people. It’s also about stopping evil things happening to them. To thwart the other side - to maintain balance.”

Nithael looked up at him again, eyes wide and scared. “I haven’t ever really dealt with… _ the other side _ .” His last words were a hushed whisper. “All I know is theory.  _ Extensive  _ theory, I might add. But… I don’t know if I’m cut out for it.”

Aziraphale thought he should’ve felt less fond of this angel, sent to take his place as if he himself was now entirely useless, a disgrace swept under the rug. But watching Nithael wring his hands in fear, overwhelmed by humanity and his new position, he could only look upon him with compassion and kindness, because he himself had many a time felt overwhelmed.

“You  _ are  _ cut out for it,” he assured. “They wouldn’t have sent you otherwise.”

“I’ve tried to think like that,” Nithael sighed. “But I’m not so sure… I didn’t  _ ask  _ for this job. I was perfectly happy maintaining the records, studying miracles… I don’t know why they sent  _ me _ .”

It did seem a bit strange, Aziraphale had to admit. He couldn’t help but wonder if Nithael was here only as a formality. Perhaps Heaven didn’t care whether humanity was taken care of or not, now that Armageddon had been cancelled and all bets were off. Maybe they’d sent him, and didn’t even expect him to succeed - just biding their time until they could work out another war to wage.

It was a horrible thought, so Aziraphale discarded it.  _ She  _ wouldn’t want it.  _ She  _ wouldn’t accept it. If the failure of Armageddon had also been a part of Her plan, then surely, surely there was still some goal to work towards, and Earth meant something. Humans were Her favourite children, and She wouldn’t want to see them abandoned.

Would she?

Aziraphale looked at Nithael, who seemed quite defeated already. He forced a smile on his face, and shoved all his dangerous doubts away.

“Trust in yourself, and your abilities, and take it one step at a time. When you see evil, counter it with goodness. Encourage the humans to be the best versions of themselves. It’ll work out.”

“But Heaven wants results,” Nithael moaned. “And soon. My first report is almost due, and I haven’t the  _ faintest  _ idea…”

Aziraphale bit his lip as a thought formed in his head. Nithael needed to thwart evil. And he had just found a place with a lot of that, residual or otherwise. Surely, cleansing that place would look good on Nithael’s record?

But Nithael was so new, so scared. He had never been exposed to the Other Side, not since the War, anyway; and perhaps Nithael hadn’t been involved in it that much, or perhaps he had been afraid even then. Aziraphale didn’t know - after the War, the remaining angels had been given an opportunity to forget about it and its horrors. Aziraphale often wondered what had made him take up the offer. What had he witnessed to willingly have his memories erased? Had Nithael chosen the same? Or did he still remember, and feared because of that?

Perhaps it was too soon, and too cruel to expose him to such evil… yet. 

_ Nithael needs to learn, eventually, _ Aziraphale thought as he watched the poor angel wring his scarf in distress. He wasn’t sure if he could trust him, as he had grown increasingly suspicious of those he had so long called brothers and sisters, but there was something very sympathetic about the fresh Principality. He had clearly not spent too much time near the likes of Gabriel and Sandalphon, since he had none of the haughty flair they so readily exuded; and Aziraphale suddenly felt it was his duty to steer this angel on the right path, to make him love humanity like he did.

He might not have been in Heaven’s good graces anymore, but he was still Principality Aziraphale, regardless of what anyone said; he would help humanity right until the very end, and helping humanity meant helping Nithael.

And if cleansing a demonic pit in an old castle was a part of it, well, that was just a little bonus.

He was just about to make a proposition to the other angel when they heard the door to the shop open once more, and the bell chimed. 

“We’re quite closed!” Aziraphale called, glancing at Nithael and hurrying to his feet. The young angel suddenly looked anxious, and stood up, as well.

“It’s just me, angel,” Crowley called, and before anyone could do anything about it, he had burst into the backroom.

The three of them stood there, frozen. Nithael stared at Crowley, eyes wide, clearly either knowing who he was, or sensing a demonic force. Aziraphale could tell Crowley narrowed his eyes at the man behind his shades. He hung on the doorframe, clearly suspicious.

Nithael backed away, eyes still glued on the demon.

“Am I interrupting something?” Crowley asked, but made no move whatsoever to excuse himself.

“Ah, well,” Aziraphale’s eyes flitted between the two of them. “I was just having a little chat with my… with my new friend here.” He motioned towards Nithael, who looked horrified at the idea that the other angel was suddenly making Crowley pay more attention to him.

“A friend?” Crowley crossed his arms and tilted his head, watching Nithael as if sizing him up. “A chat? About what?”

“Hardly any of your business,” Aziraphale chastised, but his words didn’t really have bite to them. He felt the tension in the air like crackling electricity, and he was acutely aware that one wrong move would either make Nithael panic, and so escalate things, or Crowley lose his temper, and so escalate things.

Unexpectedly, Crowley shifted closer to Aziraphale, never dropping his gaze from Nithael. “Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice, and made Aziraphale’s chest swell at the gentle show of concern.

“I am fine,” he replied softly. “Really.” He was keenly aware of Nithael’s stare.

Crowley stole a glance at him, and the intensity of the snake-like stare made Aziraphale’s cheeks burn. He averted his eyes.

“Right,  _ you _ ,” Crowley then snapped, turning his full attention on Nithael who jolted visibly, squeezing his scarf as if his corporeal form depended on it. “What in some lord’s name are you doing here? I can smell Heaven all over you.” He crinkled is nose in disgust.

“I-” Nithael’s wide eyes were glued on Crowley. “I… I am a- a Principality, sent to guard and help humankind, and…”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale sharply, then turned back to the young angel.

“The Hell you are,” the demon spat. “If you think for  _ one second _ that you can waltz down here and even  _ begin  _ to think of replacing  _ him- _ ” he pointed violently to Aziraphale as he rounded the table and slowly prowled towards Nithael, “ - you’re very,  _ very  _ wrong. Because there is no chance in existence, past, present or future, where I’m gonna let you beam down here and beam him back up!”

Poor Nithael was practically trembling, and Aziraphale had to rush to his aid.

“They’re not calling me back,” he explained to Crowley, placing himself between the two of them. “I don’t think that’s on the table anymore, really. Nithael here has been sent to do what I was sent to do, as I’m no longer… enlisted.”

“What, he’s Gabriel’s little servant or something?” Crowley glanced at Nithael in distaste over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“No more than I was,” Aziraphale stated. “He’s here to do a job. Plain and simple.”

Crowley made a disgusted grunt in the back of his throat. “It’s never plain and simple, you know that.”

“Be that as it may,” the angel sighed. “Let’s just all sit down and have tea, hm?”

He desperately wanted to diffuse the situation. He didn’t want Crowley harassing poor Nithael, but wasn’t comfortable with the idea that Nithael would put Crowley in his report, either. The less Heaven knew, the better.

Crowley dropped himself in a chair, never removing his gaze from Nithael, and slouched in it in his customary fashion. Nithael glanced nervously at Aziraphale, who smiled at him in encouragement. The young angel sat primly on the chair next to Aziraphale, as far from Crowley as he could.

Only Aziraphale drank tea. Crowley settled to staring at Nithael, who was too nervous to do a single thing. Aziraphale thought the whole situation was quite unbearable, and set his cup down with a huff.

“I think,” he began, “that we should lay down some… ground rules.”

Crowley’s expression was that of utter contempt, and Nithael looked worried.

“Ground rules?” Crowley didn’t even try to hide is distaste. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Aziraphale clasped his hands together on the table. “Nithael, I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if you left both of us out of your report. This, or any that may follow.”

Crowley made a grunt of agreement at this.

“But,” Nithael fidgeted once more, glancing at Crowley. “I’m meant to observe honestly, and keep record of my… my…  _ encounters _ .”

“Oh,  _ please _ ,” Crowley groaned, but Aziraphale shushed him.

“Nithael, my dear,” he said, and Crowley made a curious noise in his throat at this, “I don’t think it would look good on your record to associate with me.” It hurt him a bit to say it, but he soldiered on. “I rather suspect Gabriel was never truly pleased with the work I did here, especially not recently... I’m not someone you should come for advice, in his opinion.”

Nithael pondered his words, and nodded quietly. It was, of course, true. Then his eyes flitted to Crowley, and Aziraphale knew he’d have a hard time coming up with a reason not to mention a demon in the report.

“Crowley is not really…  _ enlisted  _ with Hell anymore,” Aziraphale tried to explain, and got a dirty look from the demon. “I’d rather have you leave him out of the paperwork, if possible.”

“A bit of hellfire, and he’ll have no paperwork whatsoever,” Crowley muttered quietly, but Aziraphale heard him - and so did Nithael, who looked scared to death.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale reprimanded, and was really getting rather cross with the demon, now. Being a bit suspicious was healthy, in their situation, but such threats were helping absolutely no one. Crowley sucked his teeth and looked away.

“Don’t worry, dear boy,” Aziraphale smiled soothingly at the other angel, ignoring Crowley’s grumbling altogether. “We’ll do no such thing. But if you’d be so kind as to not mention him… I’ll be happy to lend you a hand with things. Get you acquainted with humanity.”

“You are NOT,” Crowley all but snarled, making Nithael jump at the sudden exclamation, but Aziraphale held up his palm to silence him, and continued to address Nithael.

“It’s a daunting task you have been given, but I will help you through it.”

Crowley turned his eyes away with a disgruntled scoff, but Nithael’s eyes brightened. 

“Oh, thank you,” the angel gasped, and took Aziraphale’s hand in gratitude. “I… I’ll do as you say. But I can’t ignore… I mean, I can’t look past evil if I see it.”

It was the bravest thing he’d said so far, and he kept his eyes on the demon this time. Aziraphale wasn’t thrilled with the way Nithael associated Crowley with evil, but let it slide. The boy didn’t know what he knew. He assumed. He’d learn.

Crowley leaned forwards, elbows on the table, and Nithael drew as far back in his chair as he could, instinctively leaning towards Aziraphale. As the demon very pointedly glanced at the hand still holding Aziraphale’s, Nithael let go immediately and clasped his nervous hands together. It took a lot from Aziraphale not to roll his eyes.

“And I can’t look past Gabriel’s little spy if I see one,” Crowley hissed, looking at Nithael over his shades, making the angel shudder at the sight of his eyes. “You better watch yourself.”

Nithael lost his courage, but never dropped his gaze.

“No more threats, please,” Aziraphale moaned. 

“Anyway, we’re late for lunch,” Crowley got up with such a change in mood that it gave everyone whiplash. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale was genuinely shocked. “Our reservation…?”

“We’ve got fifteen minutes,” Crowley shrugged. “I’ll get us there in ten.”

Aziraphale couldn’t decide if he was happy or terrified. He stood up, and Nithael followed suit.

“My dear, won’t you drop by tomorrow?” he smiled at the angel. “I’ll answer any questions you have. Well, about the job, obviously.”

A thankful smile spread on Nithael’s face as he nodded. “Thank you, I’m sure to come!” He turned to leave, and saw Crowley was blocking the escape from the backroom. Crowley made it his mission to notice this fact as slowly as possible, let them catch on to his noticing of the fact as theatrically as possible, and step out of the way and motion to the door with mocking eloquence.

Nithael clutched his scarf as he hurried past the demon.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, and from his expression he knew he’d have some explaining to do. 


	4. Lessons in Humanity

Crowley didn’t comment on it when they got into the Bentley. He didn’t comment on it during the drive. Aziraphale tried to explain himself, but Crowley skidded around a corner so fast that the angel was shocked to silence. He tried to bring up the well at Maple Hill, but Crowley sped past three consecutive red lights and again the angel abandoned his line of thought. Every time Aziraphale tried to talk about the well or the  _ other  _ angel, Crowley drove madly enough to distract the angel.  _ His  _ angel. 

Crowley didn’t comment on it as they arrived at the restaurant - with six minutes to spare - and not when Aziraphale ordered for them. He stared at the angel quietly as the waiter left and Aziraphale folded his hands in his lap, glancing his way nervously. 

“So... what I tried to say earlier, is that something should be done about that ghastly well in-” Aziraphale began, but Crowley cut him off immediately.

“Are you out of your  _ mind? _ ” he hissed, leaning closer. He was experiencing some very complicated feelings right now, and the easiest of them was anger; so, he focused on anger.

He was angry with Aziraphale for being too trusting, too willing to accept a flimsy excuse from a stranger just because he was from Heaven. He was angry with the  _ other  _ angel, for daring to disturb the peace they had worked so hard to acquire, angry with him for trying to… well, he wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, but he was definitely angry with him for something.

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale replied, and had the gall to look offended. “That well is a menace, and I can’t leave it-”

“No, not that!” Crowley spat. “What  _ possible  _ reason would you have to help Ni- Nat-… that guy?”

“Nithael?”

“ _ Whatever _ -el!” Crowley threw up his arms in frustration. “After all we went through to get away from  _ them _ , you’re willingly helping that prick out?”

“He’s not a prick,” Aziraphale scolded politely. “He’s just out of his depth.”

Crowley could not believe it. The angel sat there, sipping wine as if this was just another day where nothing peculiar happened, as if there hadn’t just been another angel right in his bookshop,  _ holding his hand  _ and begging for help.

“Aziraphale, you don’t know him,” he was determined to make him see sense, though based on their track record, it was probably a lost battle already. “He could be here just to spy on you, pretending to need your help but actually snooping around and reporting back to Gabriel and friends!”

“You always assume the worst,” the angel sighed.

“And you  _ never  _ do, that’s the problem!” Crowley hissed between his teeth. “Look, it’s nowhere near over. Heaven and Hell won’t leave us alone forever, and we need to be careful, okay? You can’t just trust the first sorry screw-up from Heaven who knocks on your door.”

“You were awfully rude to him, you know,” Aziraphale frowned a bit, and Crowley wanted to break something. Nithael’s stupid head, for example. The angel was refusing to listen, plain and simple, ignoring all his perfectly reasonable and well-worded arguments.

“Oh, well, I’m just  _ ever  _ so sorry,” Crowley sputtered mockingly. “It  _ might  _ have  _ something  _ to do with what he is.”

“He was afraid of you,” the angel said, and Crowley saw a little hint of a smile dancing on his lips. 

“Well, he should be,” he muttered, mouth suddenly dry; his eyes were involuntarily drawn to that small flutter at the corner of the angel’s mouth, and he wanted to wipe it away it with his lips. He shook his head angrily - now was _not_ the time for distractions \- and fixed his fuming attention on the angel’s eyes.

“Promise me you won’t…” Aziraphale started, but stopped when Crowley gave him a dirty look.

“I won’t what?” he demanded. “Eat him? Burn him? Tip off his location to Hastur?”

The angel’s eyes went wide in shock. “You wouldn’t-”

“Not sure which of the options sounded the worst to you,” Crowley fought back a smug grin. “Fine. Whatever. I’m not gonna. Especially not the Hastur one. Had enough of him, anyway.”

Aziraphale looked a bit reprimanding, but took a sip of wine and relaxed his expression.

They waited in silence as the food arrived. Crowley watched Aziraphale eat, allowing him to lose himself in the world of flavours which he himself had never really understood. They were far from done with the subject of Principality No-thael, but he couldn’t bear to interrupt the angel’s enjoyment. Aziraphale looked so happy when he was eating, and what made the angel happy, made Crowley happy.

He squirmed internally at the rush of fondness coursing through him, and focused his thoughts back on the other angel.

_ Ah, better _ . A good portion of contempt returned and doused all the complicated mushy stuff.

“Angel,” Crowley said almost immediately after Aziraphale had laid down his utensils and patted his mouth with the napkin. “Could you just please tell me  _ why  _ you want to help this guy out?”

“Well, he’s all alone, and he’ll leave us out of the report if I-”

“No, not the rubbish reason,” Crowley wasn’t having it. “Why do you  _ really  _ want to help him?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue, closed it, averted his eyes, and dropped his gaze on his hands, again neatly folded in his lap.

“What else am I to do?” he said softly. “Do you know, he addressed me as the  _ former  _ Principality. I mean, I don’t think I’ve been… demoted? Is that the right word for this? Anyway, I don’t feel any different in that sense, but…”

Crowley waited as the angel looked around the restaurant, gathering the words he needed.

“What is my purpose here, now?” he turned his clear eyes on Crowley, who almost sank to the floor from the sadness, the softness, the lost… _ ness  _ in them. “I’m under no obligation. Granted, it  _ is  _ what I wanted, but… I feel a loss of direction, in a way. I have all the time in the world, Crowley, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Well, you know,” Crowley replied, noticing his voice was a lot fonder than he had intended it to be, “read books, acquire books, taste delicious food, see a play or two, take a walk in the park… do what you’ve always wanted to do.”  _ With me _ , he added mentally, desperately.  _ Try new things, let me show you new things, please, let me... _

Aziraphale smiled at him, but it was wan, somehow. He turned away again, and sighed a little sigh.

“I am a Guard, Crowley. It’s what I was purposed for. I do enjoy Earth, immensely, and I cannot get enough of humanity, and books, and my shop, and, and, all the little restaurants…” he smiled wistfully. “But I can’t shake this feeling that I should be doing  _ something _ .”

“What  _ something? _ ” Crowley wanted to get to the bottom of this. He had an uneasy feeling whenever he heard the angel speak about his purpose and his old duties; it always sounded to him like Aziraphale was there, with him, only temporarily, as if his post as the guard of Eden was still waiting for him somewhere, and he’d eventually return. It made Crowley sick.

“I don’t quite know,” the angel hummed. “It’s very conflicting. But I want to protect… something.”

“Not very conflicting at all, angel,” Crowley smiled. “That’s what you’ve always been like. Protecting stuff.”

Aziraphale gave him a brilliant smile, but then sighed. “I suppose I just want to… to take Nithael under my wing, pardon the pun. I want to teach him to love Earth like I love it, so that… so that I can be sure that at least  _ someone  _ up there…” he glanced quickly upwards, “... still has its best interest at heart.”

“In a way,” Crowley drawled, a smile tugging at his lips, “you’re trying to make Nitty-el a double agent.”

“ _ Nithael _ ,” Aziraphale corrected. “And no, that’s not… well… perhaps a little like that. I wouldn’t mind getting some news every now and again… and perhaps he can be a positive influence up there.”

“This is a tad blasphemous, and I like it,” Crowley grinned.

“It’s not!” Aziraphale exclaimed in horror. “But you know how  _ some of them _ are.”

Crowley sucked his teeth in distaste. He sure knew. He remembered his little escapade in Heaven disguised as the angel, and could still vividly imagine Gabriel’s impatient malice, his chilling command of  _ shut your stupid mouth and die already _ , and anger roiled in him. 

“I don’t see why you imagine this  _ Nit  _ is any better,” he scoffed.

“You saw him,” Aziraphale sighed. “Did he seem anything like Gabriel to you?”

Crowley mumbled something incomprehensible as a reply. 

“Exactly,” the angel nodded, disgustingly pleased with himself, as if he’d won the argument.

“Listen here, I’ve never met an angel who wasn’t rotten,” Crowley hissed. Aziraphale’s brows shot high. He waved his hand impatiently. “You don’t count. You never have.”

“They’re not all like that,” Aziraphale argued. “There’s ten million of us, you can’t judge everyone by the actions of a few.”

“Watch me,” Crowley muttered.

Crowley showed a rare bit of mercy, and dropped the subject for the remainder of their lunch. He was far from done with it, but it was nice talking about something else for a bit. It seemed to improve Aziraphale’s mood, too.

The angel tried to bring up the issue of the demonic well once more, but Crowley told him to leave it, that it wasn’t their business, and redirected the conversation easily as the dessert arrived.

Afterwards, they went for a leisurely walk, and for a while, things were as they should be. Crowley could almost pretend to forget that there was another angel mucking about the Earth.

But he was savagely reminded of the fact when he dropped Aziraphale off at the bookshop. The angel gave him a serious look before exiting the car.

“I know you’re suspicious, but please don’t go out of your way to bother Nithael,” he huffed. “He’s got a lot on his mind already, and fearing you shouldn’t be a part of it. Leave him alone.”

“Yes, but you-”

“I can handle myself,” Aziraphale interrupted sternly, but gave him a soft smile as he clambered out of the Bentley. “If I notice anything strange, I will let you know.”

Crowley stared at his retreating back, gritting his teeth.  _ This should already ring alarm bells for you, is the thing _ , he thought to himself, and drove off.

Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh as he closed the door behind him. Crowley wasn’t wrong to be suspicious, but he hadn’t seen the genuine plea in Nithael’s eyes. 

He made himself a cup of tea and settled in his favourite chair to think. 

Crowley had refused to discuss the well, once again. Granted, Nithael had been the more pressing topic, but something needed to be done about the demonic aura hanging over the cellar in Maple Hill castle.

Why was Crowley so reluctant to do something about it? Surely, it would be in humanity’s best interest if an obviously demonic pit like that would be-

Oh.

_ Oh _ . Aziraphale let out a little breath as the realisation hit him.

Of course Crowley would want nothing to do with it. He was an outcast of Hell, so what would Hell do if they found out Crowley was up here, working  _ against  _ demons?

Now that he wasn’t welcome among them, Aziraphale had a horrible feeling Hell wouldn’t think twice of trying to dispose of him, if given even the faintest reason.

Hell didn’t send strongly worded notes. Hell didn’t give a notice in advance. Hell might think holy water didn’t work on him, but corporations could be destroyed. What if they discorporated Crowley, and tossed his soul down to the deepest pits of Hell?

Aziraphale’s hands were shaking at the mere thought. Oh, how inconsiderate and obtuse he had been! He could not put Crowley in such peril. He could not bear this existence if something happened to Crowley.

He closed his eyes and took a calming breath, and then a calming sip of tea.

Nithael was a scholar, he’d said so himself. Aziraphale was sure he knew how to cleanse a place like that, at least in theory. 

It would all be alright. He wouldn’t have to try to convince Crowley about it, anymore - he could handle it with Nithael. Eventually.

He and Nithael would clear the place of all evil, and Hell would be none the wiser. Crowley wouldn’t have to get involved, and thus, Hell could not blame him for anything.

Yes. It was better this way. It was safer to leave Crowley out of it.

But in the meantime, how should he go about teaching Nithael about humanity? It was such a vast area, how could he even begin to…

He paused in mid-sip of his tea, and smiled brilliantly as an idea presented itself.

There was a polite knock on the bookshop’s door the next morning.

“Closed!” Aziraphale called, but walked slowly towards the door, just in case. 

“H-hello?” came a muffled voice from the other side, and Aziraphale smiled. He hurried forward to open the door, and found a nervous-looking Nithael on his doorstep.

“Oh, do come in,” Aziraphale gestured kindly, and stepped out of the way. Nithael smiled at him, and entered the shop extremely cautiously, glancing around as if expecting to see traps all around.

“There’s no one here but me,” Aziraphale reassured him, realising the angel feared a demonic intrusion again.

“Ah,” came the high-pitched reply. “Yes, quite, I mean. Not that I…” his shoulders slumped in defeat and he looked guilty. “It’s just, there’s been all that gossip and now that I know it’s true…”

Aziraphale felt a bit uneasy at that.

“Gossip?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Nithael looked scared and even more guilty. “Sorry! I do trust you...”

That the other was willing to place his trust with him should’ve given Aziraphale a sense of calm, or gratitude, but he couldn’t quite shake off a nasty feeling that was starting to build inside of him. Gossip? That he could imagine. But… what form had it taken?

“Come, let’s sit down,” Aziraphale suggested, and they made their way to the comfortable couch in the backroom. Aziraphale made some tea, and offered it to Nithael; he took the cup, but did not make any attempt to drink it.

“I’m not sure if I should’ve come,” Nithael confessed sheepishly.

“How so?”

“Can I be honest?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else,” Aziraphale smiled.

“There are rumours that you’ve been… corrupted,” Nithael said hastily, the last word coming out as a scared whisper. “And that you consort with Hell, and shouldn’t be trusted, and yesterday that…  _ that demon _ …”

Aziraphale stared at him, perfectly still. Corrupted? Well, he supposed it would look like that to the likes of Gabriel and Michael. And yet, Nithael had come to him.

“And what do you think?” he asked the angel calmly.

Nithael fiddled with his scarf again, having set down his tea. 

“I sense no evil in you,” he said. “The smell of it lingers…” he looked around the room, and Aziraphale frowned. He smelled nothing. “... but I suppose it would, after a… a visitor like that, yesterday.”

There were so many things Aziraphale had to let slide in the moment in order to focus on one thing at a time. 

“So, you have surmised that I’m not, in fact, evil?”

Nithael nodded brightly. “You most definitely are not. Nor are you Fallen, or… corrupted. I could sense corruption, couldn’t I?”

“I’ll have to be honest, I wouldn’t know,” Aziraphale shrugged and laughed nervously. “What does a corrupted angel feel like, anyway? I’ve never heard of anyone being corrupted by Hell but not Fallen, so really, it’s anyone’s guess.”

Nithael looked doubtful again, and Aziraphale realised he might have sold himself down the river.

“But I can assure you, Hell has  _ not  _ corrupted me,” he hastened to say. “I am still very much me.”

“What about the demon?” Nithael whispered, clearly anxious to know, to be reassured, to understand. “Why was he here? Why did you allow him here? There are such nasty things said about you up there, and I… if you’re not corrupted, then what is going on?”

Aziraphale sighed, suddenly feeling the weariness of all his millennia weighing down on his corporeal form.

“I think,” he hummed, “we need to clear the air before we can start clearing up humanity, hm? Please, Nithael. Tell me what they say about me.”

It was a question he had longed and feared to ask ever since Adam had reset the Armageddon, but had had nobody to ask before. And here now was Nithael, a nervous angel sent down to Earth, seeking for his help and prepared to speak.

Nithael regarded him pensively. He looked around the room, seeking for advice that wasn’t available, and took a deep breath.

“They say you’ve strayed from your duty,” Nithael began. “That you’ve turned your back on them, on Her, and become too attached to your corporation to remember who you are.”

Aziraphale listened, holding his tea firmly. 

“They say the demon has tempted you, and that you’ve let evil seep into yourself. They say you’ve dabbled with things that should not be, that you’ve been fooled by the demon, abandoned your brethren to thwart not evil, but Her Plan itself! You- you survived Hellfire, nobody can… no angel can.”

A silence washed over them as Nithael stopped, eyes cast down on his hands. 

Aziraphale put his tea down; his hands were shaking. On some level, he had known, of course. Gabriel had never liked him, none of them probably had, and after what they considered failures, he was not exactly popular. But oh, how it hurt him.

“I would never turn my back on Her,” Aziraphale breathed quietly. He looked at Nithael with eyes shining with tears, and remembered all he’d done for the Earth, all he’d done for humanity. He remembered taking Adam’s hand, guiding him to a destiny composed only by the child himself; he remembered all he’d thought he’d lost defending the place he loved the most. And he knew that there was nothing he would’ve done differently. That he would forever protect the ones he was created to safeguard. 

“You know, Nithael,” he smiled, new resolve bringing peace to his inner turmoil. “Having been here on Earth for so long… it does change you.”

Nithael looked horrified at the prospect.

“You begin to realise that things aren’t all black and white,” he pressed on. “There is no pure good or pure evil, not on either side, and the humans are the perfect example. Do you know, Nithael, that many of the horrors and many of the great things the humans have done, they’ve done completely unprompted?”

“What do you mean?”

“They don’t always need an angel to guide them to do good, nor do they need a demon to sin,” he smiled sadly. “That’s the beauty of it. Yes, they need help often, as much as they need temptation. It’s all about the balance, you see.”

“That sounds… corrupted, Aziraphale,” Nithael looked extremely worried.

Aziraphale shook his head with a smile. “I understand. If you wish to leave, I won’t try to stop you, dear boy.”

“I’m as old as you,” Nithael mumbled. 

Aziraphale could only smile fondly. Nithael was right, of course. No angel had been created since time immemorial, and if some of them had existed before others, it hardly made a difference. Time was meaningless in eternity.

“I don’t know if I can convince you of not being corrupted,” Aziraphale sighed. “But I suppose… yes, that must be it. What you…  _ they _ , see as corruption, is actually just… humanity.”

Nithael frowned. “I don’t know if I follow,” he said slowly, “but I do know I have come to you for help with humanity. So… I guess I’m in the right place.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled fondly, and he sipped his tea. They were silent for a while, and he watched Nithael sitting there, still having no clue as to why he should drink tea. Guilt washed over him like a tidal wave when he recalled how terrified the angel had been of Crowley, and how he had latched onto the idea of helping Nithael because he himself needed help with the demonic well. It had been a selfish goal, and he felt very bad about it. He had to come clean, he couldn’t assist the other with such an ulterior motive hanging over them.

“Nithael, I must be frank with you,” he sighed heavily, and set his cup down with a tiny clink as the spoon made contact with the porcelain. “I have come across something that I thought, hoped, you might help me with.”

“Oh?” the angel’s eyes widened, not in shock, but in excitement; and Aziraphale’s heart hurt at such an open want to make a difference, to help.

“There is a castle outside of London,” he continued. “And in the castle cellar, there is a well. And that well, Nithael, it…” Aziraphale shuddered at the memory of the evil oozing from every stone in that room. “It’s quite demonic, I’m afraid, and quite dangerous to humans.”

“We should do something about it!” Nithael exclaimed.

“That’s what I thought!” Aziraphale agreed enthusiastically. “And… and I would, and I was going to, but then you arrived. And, well, I thought it would be something that would look good in your report.” He glanced at Nithael apologetically. “I want the evil gone, Nithael, and I’m sorry I kept it from you. I should’ve just said I could use your help.”

“Are you kidding?” Nithael stared. “Don’t apologise for that! Of course you would want to get rid of it, and it  _ would  _ look extremely good on my report-” he bit his lip and looked worried. “But I don’t know if I can… I’ve never, Aziraphale,  _ never _ . I’ve only ever read theory.”

“I know,” Aziraphale consoled him. “And that’s why I’m not even going to tell you where it is. You need to be more prepared, we both do. For now, let’s just get you acquainted with humanity, hm?”

He smiled at Nithael warmly, and raised his cup to his lips.

“How do we start?” Nithael asked eagerly.

“Well, for starters, I think you should try some tea. It’s quite popular here, you know.”

Nithael raised his cup hesitantly, and took a tentative sip.

Crowley was lounging on his throne in a positively inhuman pose, holding his smartphone and staring at it intently. The ghost hunter gang had uploaded their escapade online, at last. They had added creepy music, and commentary, and heavily edited the ending to make Monkey’s meltdown seem a bit more dignified.

He read the comments and left a few inflammatory ones. 

The video was quite popular, and he could already see a few other ghost hunters commenting on how they’d go there next.

Crowley hissed in frustration. He would, obviously, enjoy spooking them thoroughly, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with any of them going down in the cellar. He’d rarely seen Aziraphale so anxious, and he knew that he had no power to soothe any human like the angel had done. 

“I don’t want to clean up anyone else’s residuals,” he groaned at nothing. “I’m… retired, or something. It’s not my job - well, it was  _ never  _ my job to thwart my own side, anyway. Heaven can take care of that, thanks very much.”

Whatever demon had once crawled up or down that well was none of his business. It had been there for Hell knows how many decades, centuries, and it probably had nothing living anywhere near it, anymore. Aziraphale was just being a drama queen, and Monkey was a weak link. He couldn’t have cared less.

But Aziraphale cared, for reasons Crowley really didn’t quite understand, and for some reasons that he understood. He wouldn’t want any humans suffering because of that well, because he loved humanity probably as much as he loved tea and dessert. 

Crowley just really,  _ really  _ didn’t want to bother with that well. How would it look Down Below if he, already not in very good standing, went out of his way to thwart Hell? It was like having Aziraphale spray graffiti on a church door - an extremely bad idea. Being an outcast was fine, but he didn’t think he could start actively sabotaging Hell and get away with it.

Crowley sat up in his seat as an idea presented itself. Oh, but there was another angel on Earth who would probably revel in the idea of some thwarting. Someone whose report was soon due. And, if the task proved too much for him, he might be called back, or perish… a win-win situation there, really.  _ Yesss _ , he grinned, gripping his phone hard in his hand. It would be too easy. He was no stranger to tempting an angel, and the new guy seemed so fragile that it wouldn’t even take much.

He got up from his seat, subtly defying physics, and rushed to his Bentley.

_ Closed _ , said the sign at A. Z. Fell’s. Well, it was closed most of the time, but that had never stopped Crowley. However, he didn’t want to barge in, not this time. He knew the other angel was visiting today. And he was beyond curious about what exactly they were doing - how would one start teaching an angel about humanity, after all?

He didn’t want to rush in and interrupt, because the moment the other angel saw him, he’d clam up pathetically. No, Crowley needed to be sneaky, and he was very good at that.

With a little miracle, the door cracked open quietly, and a small, black snake slithered over the threshold. Crowley knew he was harder to notice like this, all sneaksy and innocent-like. It was harder for any angel to smell him - sure, over time they’d catch on, but his ‘demonic aura’ or whatever they called it, was greatly subdued.

He heard voices from the backroom and slithered onwards. So much dust here, he noted. Aziraphale should really clean under the tables. At the door to the backroom, he crept up the wall; not even difficult. He peeked inside, still unnoticed.

The two angels were sitting there, a myriad of cups and glasses on the table.

“And this,” Aziraphale said brightly, holding up a glass, “is called lemonade. It’s really quite refreshing on hot summer days, and they make it quite a lot in places where lemons are native.”

_ What. In the world.  _

“Hmm,” the other angel took a careful sip and scrunched his nose. “Oh, that’s quite sour, isn’t it?”

“You can add sugar,” Aziraphale suggested. Crowley had had enough. This was ridiculous. He transformed back into his humanoid form and made the angels almost jump out of their corporations.

“Afternoon,” Crowley drawled, leaning on the doorframe. “How’re you doing, angel?” he pointedly looked at Aziraphale. “And you… Git-hael, was it?”

“N-Nithael,” the man breathed, face turning red from embarrassment, or anger, or… well, Crowley didn’t care. Aziraphale looked a bit vexed, though, straightening his bowtie and pursing his lips in distaste.

“Crowley, would you please explain why you had to sneak up on us?”

“Needed a word,” he shrugged. “And since this one-” he pointed a thumb towards the other angel, “- was so freaked out by me yesterday, I figured I’d make a more subtle entrance.”

“That was  _ not  _ subtle,” Aziraphale huffed.

“And anyway, what in Hell’s blazes are you two doing?” He quirked a brow at the show of half-drunk glasses and mugs on the table. Cocoa, coffee, tea, orange juice…

“Getting Nithael acquainted with humanity,” Aziraphale replied, not amused.

“By sampling beverages?”

“It’s a start.”

Crowley barked with laughter, and flung himself on the sofa, grinning at the angels from behind his dark shades.

“Brilliant,” he chuckled. “Though, what’s all that crap? Angel, you gotta show him the good stuff. Where’s the whiskey, the wine? Don’t make it too good a vintage, though.”

“We’re building up to it,” Aziraphale said calmly, but still stubbornly not amused. “Now please, could you state your business and  _ leave? _ ”

Crowley’s grin faded. Aziraphale never asked him to leave, not with that attitude. It hurt. And all the while, the other angel was staring at him, scared and hostile and…

“Just thought to let you know,” he bounced back and took on a casual demeanor, “that more humans are probably going to head for that well.”

Aziraphale looked a bit hesitant, and glanced at Nithael.

“Well, that’s not good,” the angel said and fidgeted. “And like I said-”

“No no, leave me out of it,” Crowley raised his palms, but glanced at the other angel to make sure he was listening. He already looked curious. This was so easy it was disappointing. “I can’t go thwarting my old boss, looks bad in my record… assuming they still have one on me. Knowing Dagon, they  _ definitely  _ do.”

“Well, that’s quite alright,” Aziraphale hummed, looking oddly relieved; Crowley was starting to lose his momentum - this wasn’t going the way he had thought it would. “Nithael and I will look into it, when he’s ready.”

Crowley hadn’t expected that. “Wh- I- you… told him…?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale tutted. “It’s his job to know, now. I’ll help you, of course, dear,” he smiled to Nithael, and Crowley wanted to punch something.

“Hoo no you won’t,” Crowley grit his teeth. “Told you, it’s not your job. Leave it be. Leave it to…  _ them _ .” He waved a hand at Nithael without ever looking his way.

“I’m only assisting,” Aziraphale said, and stood up. “Now, Crowley, please leave us. We’ve got things to do.”

“Angel,” Crowley moaned, and was rather shocked when Aziraphale grabbed his arm and hoisted him on his feet. He was so surprised he didn’t even think to resist until it was too late.

“Out,” Aziraphale said breezily, and dragged Crowley towards the door.

“Hey, now, wait,” he tried to argue, but the angel was having none of it. All too suddenly, the front door was open and Aziraphale was gently pushing him out.

“Okay, look, wait, I-”

“I’ll see you later, Crowley,” the angel promised, a hand still on his chest,  _ pushing _ .

“Lunch tomorrow?” Crowley offered feebly, a strange sort of panic trying to claw its way into him.

“Ah, sorry, dear, I’m having lunch with Nithael, actually,” Aziraphale dropped his hand and looked a bit apologetic. “But maybe Thursday? At one?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want,” Crowley blurted out, and Aziraphale’s smile almost made up for the fact that he closed the door on him. It locked with an audible clank.

He stood there, stunned, staring at the door. 

Aziraphale had kicked him out.

Shoved him on the street! Literally.

He swallowed.

The angel had never kicked him out of anywhere. Always too polite for his own good. 

Crowley blamed Nithael. Fully.

He was still standing there, staring. He couldn’t see the angels from the window. 

A human wondered by, a fussy sort of man, clearly what one might call Aziraphale’s regular customer.

“Closed!” Crowley hissed the moment the man was by his side. The human scurried away quickly.

Crowley felt all weird inside. Anxiety was prickling in his innards, crawling under the surface and trying to find purchase in his chest. 

_ Well. _

_ Then. _

He took a few steps backwards before turning around and heading for his Bentley.

He sat behind the wheel, staring at nothing. He figured he should start the car.

Yeah, that was probably a thing he should do.

He did nothing.

Who did this Nithael think he was, barging into their lives without a warning, somehow ensnaring Aziraphale in his web of obvious lies, and  _ his angel  _ went along with it!

After six thousand years of hasty meetings, covert lunches, secret rendez-vous places, and constant fear of being found out, Aziraphale had embraced Heaven’s little lap dog like nothing had happened. Like Michael wasn’t the cold bitch bringing holy water to Hell, like Gabriel hadn’t commanded Aziraphale to die with no remorse whatsoever. Like any of them were  _ anything  _ but wretched.

Like any of them were worth a single second of their time.

He started the car angrily, and revved away with the Bentley roaring as if in rage. He hoped the angels heard it inside.

In the cellar of Maple Hill castle, darkness gathered.


	5. Angels Unarmed

Aziraphale sighed a little sigh after he had closed the door on Crowley. He composed himself and went back to Nithael, who looked rather shaken.

“I’m terribly sorry about that, my dear boy,” he smiled at the man. “I’m sure he won’t bother us again.”  _ Today _ , he thought to himself.

“You…” Nithael stared at him with wide eyes. “You touched him.”

Aziraphale looked at him and wasn’t following at all.

“Yes…?”

“You grabbed him and took him out,” Nithael went on, eyes still on him. “You grabbed a demon, and cast him out.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale didn’t know what to say to that. “I suppose I did.”

“And it didn’t hurt you?”

“What didn’t hurt me?”

“Touching a demon!”

“Well, no,” he replied, sitting down and fiddling with his teacup. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

“And he didn’t try to attack you?” there was a slight, worried frown on Nithael’s face as he eyed him all over.

“Really, now,” Aziraphale shifted in his seat. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

This was definitely not what he’d thought they’d discuss today. Aziraphale had just wanted to have Nithael sample some drinks, find common ground, spark a love for humanity. Instead, they were now talking about demons, and more worryingly, one specific demon.

“I’ve known Crowley for six thousand years,” Aziraphale sighed. “He’s as keen to attack me as I am to attack him.”

Nithael looked puzzled. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “That means, not keen at all.”

“So it is true,” Nithale mumbled, staring at him like a child who’s learned the truth about Father Christmas. “He is… you are… you have been…  _ fraternising _ .”

The word had a nasty ring to it, and Aziraphale averted his eyes.

“Look, Nithael,” he clasped his hands together firmly. He searched for the words as he locked eyes with the other angel, and realised there were no explanations left. Heaven was, apparently, already abuzz with rumours about him, and what would be the point of denying this? “Yes, yes I suppose that is true.”

Nithael’s lips parted in shock.

“As I’ve said before, you are free to leave,” Aziraphale said, keeping a polite smile on his face though the words weighed heavy on his chest. “I can assure you nobody has corrupted me, and I’m not being manipulated. I am my own person, like Crowley is his own person. All I have to offer you is my word.”

Nithael seemed to really consider this. He looked at Aziraphale with searching eyes, and Aziraphale noticed he forgot to breathe. Not that he really needed to, but he’d taken up the habit along the way. Slowly, Nithael nodded.

“I will take your word.”

Aziraphale beamed. He wasn’t sure why he was so happy to hear it, but it really did warm his heart.

“Though, Aziraphale,” Nithael looked apologetic as he glanced down at the multitude of cups and mugs. “I don’t think this is for me. I think I’d rather focus on protecting humans from evil.”

“Ah, well,” Aziraphale smiled wanly. “I suppose eating and drinking are… acquired tastes. Maybe it’s not for you, not yet, at least.”

“Tell me more about this demonic well,” Nithael said in a low voice, staring at him worriedly, but eagerly. “I have read much about demonic miracles and powers.”

Aziraphale sighed, and told him all he knew.

When he finished his recount of the events at Maple Hill, Nithael looked concerned beyond belief. He was fiddling with his scarf again.

“Are you sure Crowley wasn’t the source of…”

“Perfectly sure.” That line of thought was something Aziraphale had no patience following. “How should we go about clearing that place?”

He hadn’t really vanquished evil, and even less often cleansed a location; he had always focused more on guidance and protection, and hadn’t actively sought out evil. Occasionally, something demonic - other than Crowley - had come his way: a cursed item, usually. He had taken those up to Heaven to be destroyed, or given them to Crowley’s care. He had never really done anything about them, himself, and hadn’t encountered anything quite this potent. He had rather hoped he’d get to figure the well out with Crowley, but… ah, well. 

“I suppose prayer, healing symbols, and some holy water would be a start,” Nithael nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve read about cleansing rituals. I’ll have to think about the symbols a bit... And when we lure the evil out,” Nithael swallowed. “Or if we do, then we’ll… well, holy water is really all you need, isn’t it?”

“I think we need to plan this a bit better,” Aziraphale chuckled nervously. “We can’t go in with scattered ideas and vague thoughts. We’ll need to do this properly. There might not even  _ be  _ anything living there, it might just be an…  _ unclean  _ location.”

“Shall we scout the area first?” Nithael suggested hesitantly, and Aziraphale was relieved he’d said it. “To see what kind of powers we’re dealing with?

“Yes, we should definitely do that,” Aziraphale agreed readily.

“Tomorrow, after lunch?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale hadn’t expected the scouting quite so soon, but… “Of course.”

And it was a plan. For the rest of the day, Aziraphale showed him books which he thought said something poignant about humanity, or demonstrated their nature, and it was a perfectly pleasant way to spend time.

Nithael seemed to prefer it over drinks, anyway. He had said he was a scholar, after all.

Crowley was already waiting for the new batch of ghost hunters as they arrived at Maple Hill at sunset.

This bunch was a bit louder and more arrogant than the previous one, which suited him fine; he wasn’t in the mood of being fun, he was in the mood of being savage. He was determined to scare them out of there before they had time to even enter the cellar.

He watched them set up their cameras and put fresh batteries in their torches. All the while being loud, and really rather obnoxious.

Aziraphale would have hated them, but pretended to tolerate them.

Thinking about the angel only made him more bitter.

“We do the cellar as the grand finale, yeah?” one of the humans asked, and the others agreed excitedly.

Perfect idea.

Crowley wasted no time. The moment the humans entered the castle, he let his aura engulf them; the oppressive feeling of dread and unease wiped the smiles off their faces, though they still pretended to be fine.

One of them reminded him a bit of Nithael; there was no particular reason, the man just had an annoying face. So,  _ exactly  _ like Nithael, then. It soured his mood even further.

Crowley made sure they heard light footsteps behind them every time they moved. It drove them to paranoia in no time.

He whispered incomprehensible words into the air for them to hear and interpret as they wished. He could sense their hearts beating faster and faster as cold sweat beaded on their foreheads.

They turned on the radio-thing, and Crowley made it gurgle in a very demonic-sounding way, and then break. The humans tried to laugh it off, but were getting truly scared now.

Any other time, Crowley would have had the time of his life watching them crumble to their fear, but there was no fun to be had that night. He wasn’t in the mood for it. All he could think was how fun this would’ve been with Aziraphale - even if the angel didn’t want to participate, his reactions to the whole thing would have been worth everything.

But  _ nooo _ , Aziraphale was busy. Nithael needed help, Nithael was out of his depth, Nithael this and Nithael that.

Crowley oozed with bitter anger, and not a small amount of jealousy; but that, of course, he’d never admit.

Nithael wasn’t worth being jealous over, obviously.

Regardless, Crowley messed with the Nithael-looking human quite a bit more than the others. Coincidentally.

In another room, the humans set two faultily wired torches on the table, and asked any presence to turn them off and on according to their questions.

“Is anyone here with us?” they asked, and Crowley didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“Turn off the left light if you want us to leave.”

_ Oh, without a doubt. _ He turned it off at once. The humans gasped.

“Turn  _ on  _ the left light if you are a malevolent being,” they said.

Crowley scoffed wryly, but turned the torch on anyway, after a moment. 

“Turn both lights off if you want to harm us,” the humans asked.

_ Jury is still out on that one _ , Crowley thought, but turned both lights off. One of the humans actually screamed. When they took the torches and tried to turn them back on, they refused to work save for one; it flickered at the most inconvenient times. Panic began to rise in them in full.

The humans were thoroughly scared at this point, and Crowley finished his masterpiece when they reached the entry hall. He produced a lingering sigh which travelled across the hall, circled the group, hung in the air, and laughed at them.

They still tried to brush it off, but then Crowley short-circuited their cameras.

“ _ Leeeeaaaaveeee _ ,” he growled next to them, and that did it.

The humans ran out as if in accord. Crowley leant on the doorway and watched them pack their things. One of them tried to suggest checking out the cellar, but the others thankfully disagreed.

Crowley sighed as he saw them disappear down the moors.

“Right,” he muttered, and made his way directly to the cellar, and to the well. Maybe he could just have a chat with whoever was down there.  _ If  _ there was anyone down there. He didn’t like the idea of Aziraphale messing with Hell in any way; Heaven didn’t have his back anymore, and if he went and got himself discorporated… well, nobody was going to issue him a new body. That was quite certain.

If Crowley could just find out whether there was anybody in the well, maybe convince them to leave… problem solved. He didn’t have high hopes, but he had to try.

He stood by the pit for a while, arms crossed, glaring at it.

“Alright, who the fuck is down there?” Crowley crouched by the well and peered down, seeing nothing but darkness. Silence.

“Come on, don’t waste my time,” he griped. “Just come up and have a chat, eh? What’s up with this well? This your home, or what? You could do better. There’s a whole castle up here. A whole  _ world  _ out there.”

Silence.

“Is there actually anyone down there?” he called, perching precariously on the edge. “Because I swear, if someone just left the door open and forgot about it for centuries…”

Nothing. 

“Well, you know what,  _ fine _ ,” Crowley bounced up and spread his arms. “Whatever! I didn’t wanna deal with you anyway. Keep your stupid hole, and your stupid…  _ stuff _ . I’m out.”

He walked away, stopped for a moment and glanced behind, ready to see something likely slimy crawling up, but no. Absolute silence. He grunted in frustration, and left.

He drove around aimlessly for a while, trying to distract himself. He’d been wound-up and on edge the whole day. The earlier meeting with Aziraphale bothered him, and he wondered if he should go over… maybe see if the angel had calmed down. He usually calmed down quickly, and was eager to make up for any little spat. 

There was no way he could ever trust Nithael. Anything coming down from Heaven was bad, Crowley had decided; and what if Nithael had been sent to actually get rid of Aziraphale, or drag him back to Heaven for a second judgement, or worse? He couldn’t believe how careless Aziraphale was being, and he needed to find a way to make it stop.

Crowley pulled over by the bookshop, but didn’t leave the car. There was warm light glowing from the windows, and he saw movement inside. He narrowed his eyes -  _ Nithael _ . Still there? At this hour? He was walking about the shop with Aziraphale, who was smiling and showing him something.

Something burned in Crowley’s chest. He was the only one who should spend time at the shop this late. Like so many times before… drinking, laughing, bickering, talking, touching by _ accident _ … He started the Bentley and drove it around the corner. He left the vehicle and melded into the shadows where he had a clear view of the shop’s door.

He waited.

After what seemed like too long, the bookshop door opened, and a smiling Nithael stepped outside. He turned to look back, and Crowley saw Aziraphale smiling back at him, saying words he couldn’t hear. Nithael nodded, and Aziraphale waved his hand in goodbye as he closed the door.

Nithael began walking away, and turned a corner by the shop. With a few silent strides, Crowley was behind him.

“Good evening,” he whispered in the angel’s ear. Nithael yelped and spun on his heels, taking fumbling steps backwards as he realised who had spoken to him.

“What do you want?” he gasped fearfully.

“What? I just said good evening. I’m being polite here.”

Nithael looked thoroughly unconvinced. Crowley paced closer, preventing the angel from running.

He really hated him.

“Listen, you pathetic excuse of an angel,” he hissed quietly, and let all the venom in his heart drip into his voice. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m gonna find out. Unless you want to make it easy for all of us, and just spit it out now?”

“What do you want from me?” Nithael breathed, pressing his back against a wall, watching him with terrified eyes. “I’ve got no - no  _ game _ !”

“Oh, sure, that’s likely,” Crowley huffed. “You just want to risk your standing in Heaven by associating with its outcasts, you’re just doing a job, are you? And when the big boys in Heaven ask you what you’ve been up to, you’ll just lie to their faces? Very angelic, I’m sure  _ She  _ will appreciate that a lot.”

Nithael shook his head, and looked both frightened and angry.

“Just leave Aziraphale alone,” Crowley snarled. “Or I will personally make you -”

“Crowley!”

Both Crowley and Nithael turned to look towards the voice, and to Crowley’s dismay and Nithael’s obvious relief, Aziraphale was standing there; apparently, he had either heard them, or sensed them, and now he was standing under the shop’s window, golden light catching in his hair like a halo.

Crowley stepped out of Nithael’s space, and stared. Aziraphale looked angry. He’d very rarely seen the angel angry, and he had never liked it. It didn’t really suit him. It was scary. His softness was gone, his eyes had a steely edge to them, and his lips were pursed - and not in the usual pouty way.

“What?” was all Crowley managed to say. 

“How dare you?” Aziraphale asked, and there was a hint of disappointment seeping through his anger - and that stung Crowley more than biting words. “Can’t you just let him be? He is  _ not  _ your enemy, do not harass him!”

“He  _ is _ , and I’m not  _ harassing  _ him!” Crowley spat back. “I’m only asking questions you don’t want to ask!”

“If there are answers that I need, I am perfectly capable of asking questions myself!” Aziraphale stepped closer, making an effort not to raise his voice too much.

“Oh, right, are you, are you really?”

“Of course!”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Crowley snided. “Whatever. Seems to me you don’t want to ask the questions that need asking! Because of- because you’re afraid of the answers!” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“ _ I’m _ being ridiculous?” Crowley laughed in disbelief. He was getting angry, too; he was desperate to make Aziraphale see, make him understand his point. “You don’t  _ really  _ want to know what he’s up to, because you don’t want to find out he’s here only to spy on you! And  _ I’m _ ridiculous?”

“You  _ are  _ being ridiculous,” Aziraphale said in a hushed voice, glancing around; but nobody paid them any attention. “I don’t understand what’s gotten into you-”

“You have no reason to trust him!” Crowley exclaimed, waving a hand in Nithael’s direction. “But you do anyway, because you’re so desperate to have any confirmation that someone up there is still on your side! There’s not!”

Aziraphale stared at him with genuine hurt in his eyes, but Crowley was too wound up to stop now. He was desperate to get his point across, desperate to make his angel see at least a bit of sense. It all burst out of him in a bitter tirade which he felt he had no control over, once he’d begun.

“You can make up excuses about wanting to help humanity, or whatever, but all you actually want is to  _ belong  _ with the fuckers who were happy to see you burn! It’s- it’s just, angel, you’re  _ better  _ than that. Stop seeking for their approval, because you’re not- you’re not going to get it, and you don’t need it. They’re not on your side, and this pathetic principality isn’t, either, and the sooner you come to your senses and ditch this little lackey, the better! Heaven doesn’t  _ want  _ you, and you shouldn’t want them.”

His last words rang in the silence between them, and as Crowley watched Aziraphale’s eyes fill with hurt and unshed tears, he figured he might have worded his rant a bit too harshly. But he’d meant it, it was true, maybe he’d phrased it wrong, but as long as Aziraphale would get the point…

“Leave Nithael alone,” Aziraphale said, then, and his voice was eerily quiet and void of any of its usual fussy warmth. He stared at Crowley, who stared back, unmoving. “And while you’re at it, I-” he swallowed, fists balled, eyes wide and shining. “Leave  _ me  _ alone, as well.”

Aziraphale nodded curtly at Nithael, who nodded back and quickly left the scene. He turned away to head back to his shop.

Crowley’s heart was pounding and his ears were ringing. He had a horrible, terrible feeling things had gone a bit wrong.

“Angel,” he called after Aziraphale, his voice hollow and threatening to break with desperation. Aziraphale turned sharply on his heels, and the look he gave Crowley stabbed him in the heart.

“Leave!” the angel commanded loudly, in distress, heartbreak in his eyes, and hurried back to his shop.

Crowley was left standing on the street, alone and bewildered, feeling as if someone had replaced his insides with fire and ice; he was numb, shaking, and scared.

“Angel,” he repeated quietly to the air, to the space Aziraphale should have occupied.

_ Leave me alone. _

Eyes as cold as steel.

How had it gone so incredibly wrong?

Crowley had no recollection of how he got home, but when he did, he spent the next day or so curled in his bed, under all his blankets, as a little black snake.

Snakes didn’t have complicated feelings. Snakes didn’t say hurtful things to those they cared the most about. Snakes only hissed.

Hissed and bit and poisoned anyone who dared to get too close. 

In the cellar of Maple Hill castle, darkness  _ stirred _ .

It hadn’t been a very pleasant lunch for Aziraphale. 

Nithael didn’t eat. Which was fine. But Nithael wouldn’t even taste anything, had nothing to drink ( _ “I can understand consuming water since humans need it, but hot water…? Unnatural” _ ), and insisted on having a conversation all the way through, greatly hindering Aziraphale’s concentration on the flavours. Not that he was able to enjoy the food that day.

They were going to scout the well afterwards, and Nithael didn’t, not even for one merciful minute, let him forget.

Maybe that was fine, too. Being forced to think about the mission ahead prevented Aziraphale from thinking about last night, and what Crowley had said. 

What he’d said back.

Aziraphale hadn’t meant it. The words had just cascaded from his lips, in a flurry of pain and fear. He’d regretted it immediately afterwards, of course; he’d spent the night fretting and worrying, shedding a few tears out of hurt and guilt. Many a time he’d thought of calling Crowley, but he couldn’t face him before sorting himself out.

He’d been upset by Crowley’s words, certainly. Suspicion was good in healthy doses, but Crowley was overflowing with it. Nithael hadn’t given him any reason to doubt, and yet Crowley wouldn’t even give him a chance.

What hurt Aziraphale the most was that Crowley had had a point. Aziraphale  _ did  _ still want to have a place in Heaven, wanted to belong with them; not in the way he had thought he’d wanted, before, but… it was hard not to need it, when it was all he’d ever known. He desired Her light, missed Her voice, and perhaps, if he was in Heaven’s good graces, he could hear Her again. She hadn’t spoken to him since Eden. Since he’d given his sword away. 

For Crowley to tell him Heaven didn’t want him… it was a slap across the face, his fears put into words. His identity crumbled. What was he, if not of Heaven? 

Nithael had been excruciatingly full of compassion when he’d shown up at his door earlier. He’d also tried his best to convince Aziraphale of the fact that he’d done the right thing in commanding the vile demon to leave, that he’d be better off like this, and that he’d soon feel better about it.

No matter how hard Nithael tried, Aziraphale couldn’t agree. He would not be better off without Crowley, he never had been; time had shown it again and again. Crowley was his one constant, the only fixed point in his whole existence, he was-

A louder remark from Nithael woke him up from his thoughts; he realised he’d been ignoring the poor boy. He forced a polite smile on his face, and paid attention to him again. They really needed to focus on the plan, and Nithael was talking about it frantically.

He fretted, he plotted, he fretted some more. It didn’t matter how many times Aziraphale said they were first going to just take a look, and then work out the details - Nithael would not drop the subject. He was so worried, so very worried, and Aziraphale rather thought he wasn’t ready at all.

But when he tried to suggest it, Nithael insisted they were going and that was final.

Aziraphale hadn’t really thought about how to get there - Crowley always drove him to places, and now that wasn’t an option. His heart ached at the mere thought, and he quickly directed his thoughts elsewhere.

So they took public transport as far as they could, and walked the rest.

It was agony.

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Nithael commented as the castle was in their sights. 

Aziraphale didn’t bother to answer.

Nithael soon revoked his words.

“We’re just here to look, alright?” Aziraphale said as they entered the shadows of the old castle, and the other angel visibly tensed. “We’re not really prepared to… well, I don’t know. I’ll show you the well, and we’ll leave.”

“Alright,” Nithael agreed anxiously, obvious tension rising in him as they approached the cellar door. “Oh, Aziraphale,” he drew in a sharp breath as they began heading down. “I… I feel it.”

Aziraphale nodded. “It’s quite ghastly.”

“Such evil,” Nithael mumbled, fiddling with his scarf with shaking hands. “I’ve never…”

“We shall leave whenever you want.”

“No,” Nithael’s voice was a bit too high, but he composed himself. “No, it’s fine. We’re here just to look.”

“Indeed.”

Nithael pressed his back against a wall as they were standing by the well. Aziraphale didn’t feel much better, and quite hoped he could do the same, but he knew someone needed to stand fast.

“So,” he whispered. “Here it is.”

“It’s…” Nithael’s voice was shaky. 

“I know.”

“What can we ever do about this?” Nithael’s eyes were wide and afraid as he looked at Aziraphale. “I don’t… it’s beyond…”

“We will find a way,” Aziraphale assured him, but knew his words were worth nothing. He had no idea what to do, or what would work. “We had better leave...”

Nithael nodded, and Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder to lead him away. They had barely taken a few steps when Nithael glanced behind, his eyes going wide in absolute horror, and he grasped Aziraphale’s arm so that it hurt.

Aziraphale turned to look, and icy fear shot through him. The darkness seemed to deepen by the well, and there was  _ movement _ .

Blessed Heaven, something was crawling up from the pit.

A clawed, withered hand gripped the stones on the floor, dark claws digging into the loose dirt in between the stones. Then another hand, a bony shoulder, and suddenly there was a dark grey, red-eyed demon hunched over the pit, staring at them.

It had hair, Aziraphale had to assume, long hair that coiled around its skeletal body, and seemed to move on its own accord.

It bared its sharp, yellow teeth in a gruesome smile, and let out a breathy huff Aziraphale interpreted as a laugh. Nithael’s hand gripped him like a vice.

“Go,” Aziraphale whispered, backing away himself. Nithael’s hold on him loosened, but he stayed. The demon looked at them curiously.

“Angels,” it croaked; it was a voice seldom used. “Unarmed.”

And it lunged at them.

Aziraphale didn’t have much time to react. He turned around and pushed Nithael away, but at the same moment he felt ice-cold, bony fingers curl tightly around his ankle. He fell with a cry, unfurling his wings in an attempt to balance himself and become harder to manhandle. He saw Nithael’s absolute look of horror, his numb terror as he stared.

“Go!” Aziraphale cried, and didn’t have time to see if the angel took his word.

The demon dragged him closer and closer to the well. Aziraphale kicked and struggled, bat his wings at it furiously. Its claws bore into his leg and scratched at his wings, ripping out feathers, and it was smiling, constantly smiling, those horrible, jagged teeth a promise of pain to come.

_ No, no no no, please _ , was all he could think.  _ Please, no, Crowley, I’m so sorry, so so sorry… _

When the demon dragged him down, he hid away his mangled wings and could only wait for his imminent doom.

_ If only I had said I was sorry _ , he thought as hot tears burned in his eyes, and then darkness claimed him.


	6. Darkness

When Crowley woke up, it was hard to remember why he was a snake.

He liked being a snake, though. It was much simpler, sometimes. Much more flexible.

He could sleep on a branch, if he wanted. Snakes were amazing.

There was a sense of loss hanging over him, and he had no idea why. He uncoiled himself, and transformed back into his familiar humanoid shape.

And he remembered exactly why he’d been a snake when the preceding events crashed down on him with full force. His heart sank, and suddenly he just wanted to curl back under the blankets and never come out.

Aziraphale was angry with him.

He’d made Aziraphale angry.

He swallowed his agony and grabbed his phone, half-expecting to see at least a dozen missed calls from the angel. He never stayed mad for long.

His phone only showed him the date and time.

12 o’clock and something or other. He tossed the thing on the bed.

_ Right, _ he thought, got up, and began pacing the room.  _ It’s fine. He’ll forgive me, he always does. Why is he being so stubborn, anyway? It wasn’t my fault. He’ll get it soon enough. I’ll just stay here - no, take a drive - no! Stay here. In case he comes over. _

He remembered the last time Aziraphale had come over, after defying Heaven and Hell, before facing their judgements. 

He didn’t want to think about it. The memory was dear, and right now he couldn’t deal with it.

What should he do? He went to his plants and picked up the mister. He stood there, eyeing the leaves critically, but didn’t feel like doing anything.

“Keep… growing,” he muttered half-heartedly. “... bastards.” And if plants could sigh in relief, these ones certainly did.

Crowley paced.  _ Not my fault. The angel’s being an arse. I barely said a thing. He took it too seriously, refused to see reason. Not. My. Fault.  _ He snarled at thin air; the apartment felt enclosed and oppressive, his corporation too small for the storm inside him. Aziraphale hadn’t called, so either he was still angry, or… busy.

He cursed Nithael. It was all his stupid fault, really. Without him, they wouldn’t be in this situation. 

Ever since the botched Armageddon, Crowley had hoped to see Aziraphale more. Once a week was a great improvement to the past, of course, but it suddenly didn’t seem like enough.

The days leading up to the Armageddon had been such a whirlwind of events and emotions. They’d seen each other so often that weekly meetings just seemed like backpedaling.

Crowley didn’t even care what they’d do. He just wanted to be near Aziraphale, to be able to see him and hear him, smell him. He hated the idea of not knowing where he was.

He frowned to himself. Something felt strange.

It wasn’t just their argument, not just his bitterness at Nithael. No… this was something more.

There was an uneasiness that had settled in his chest. A sense of loss, a need to act.

He didn’t quite understand it. He glanced at his phone. Thursday.

Had he really slept that long?

_ Thursday _ .

Aziraphale had wanted to have lunch on Thursday.

Crowley was out of the apartment and in his car faster than anyone could comprehend.

Crowley sat in the Bentley, staring at the bookshop doors.

Somehow, he had a feeling that lunch with his angel might not be the plan, anymore. It didn’t matter. He’d still wait.

He stared at the shop. He wouldn’t go in. Maybe  _ Nittyel  _ was in there again, and Aziraphale would drive him out. Again. 

Stupid other angel. 

Maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t even want to talk to him.

_ Not my fault. _

As the clock began to tick closer to the time they had agreed Crowley would pick him up, he started to feel a bit itchy under the skin again. He knew Aziraphale probably wasn’t coming at all, but there was something else that made him anxious.

The odd feeling of loss, a sense that something wasn’t quite the way it was supposed to be, still persisted. Maybe it was just their row, he thought, but couldn’t convince himself. It kept getting stronger.

Crowley sucked his teeth. Maybe Nithael  _ was  _ in there, and maybe they were again lost in some stupid conversation about humanity. Maybe Aziraphale wasn’t even thinking about him. Why would he, now that he had an angel to befriend?

One o’clock exactly.

_ Something’s wrong _ , Crowley thought and left the car. He walked to the doors which opened before him on command, and strode further inside.

It didn’t smell like Aziraphale. Not much. Usually the whole bookshop was full of the angel, the dark vanilla scent mixed with sunlight, but it was gone. Instead, there was a different smell, something like lily-of-the-valley and bleach. Distinctly Heaven, distinctly unwanted.

“Angel?”

Something crashed in the backroom, and Crowley dashed towards the sound with a snarl.

And suddenly, he was face-to-face with a harrowed-looking Nithael, a broken teapot at his feet.

“ _ You _ ,” Crowley growled. Nithael backed away as far as he could, which was not very far at all before he hit a wall.

“What are you doing?” Crowley demanded. He didn’t even care what the answer was, he was already seething.

“I… I…” Nithael stammered, and he looked… bad. Crowley frowned.

“You what?”

“Tea,” the angel whimpered. 

“ _ What? _ ”

“Aziraphale says that tea is calming, and helps him relax, and think, and I thought… I thought…”

“What did you  _ do? _ ” Crowley asked in a low voice which promised only misery. “What have you done to Aziraphale?”

“Nothing!” the angel gulped, panic in his eyes, and Crowley didn’t understand - but he felt fear compressing his chest.

“Explain,” he hissed.

It all came out of Nithael in a terrified string of words, hastily recounted, and fearfully remembered.

Crowley listened, frozen from the inside out.

“... and then I didn’t know what to do, I walked around, gathering my thoughts for… I don’t know how long, time is all muddled… Eventually, I came here, and, and, I thought I should make tea, because…” Nithael looked at the mess at his feet. “I don’t know why.” He looked at Crowley, fear and desperation and guilt shining in his eyes so painfully clearly that Crowley could only hate him.

“I don’t know how to help him,” Nithael whispered. “He told me to go, so I did, and I thought maybe I could go Upstairs, and ask-”

“Tell me you  _ didn’t, _ ” Crowley spat.

“I didn’t! I didn’t think they’d…” he glanced down, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Crowley stared, and seethed. Bristled. Hated. He watched the angel, and saw him wracked by fear and guilt, and Crowley was angry with him, so,  _ so  _ angry. He needed to hate Nithael right now, needed to focus on his incredible stupidity, needed to let him hear it, because if he didn’t focus on his anger, there was only one other option.

The underlying panic of  _ my angel has been taken by a demon, I don’t know where he is, I can’t sense him, he’s gone,  _ was constantly bubbling beneath the surface, and if he didn’t focus on his anger, he would fall apart.

“What am I going to do?” Nithael breathed weakly.

Crowley grabbed him by the stupid scarf and shoved him roughly against the wall.

“I know what  _ I’m _ going to do,” he growled, his face inches from Nithael’s, and let him smell the sulfur and hate on his breath. “I’m going to go to the castle, toss you down the pit, and use you as  _ bait _ .”

Nithael looked absolutely horrified.

“Y-you can’t, I-” he stammered. “You couldn’t…I… I’m a principality…!”

“I could,” Crowley pushed him even harder against the wall. “I could, and I  _ will _ , because you are  _ nothing _ ,” his fingers curled tighter around the scarf, and he felt he was going to burst with the turmoil inside of him, “and he is  _ everything _ .”

He hadn’t meant to say the last bit aloud, and let go of the angel, shoving him as he did. He paced around the room.

“Right,” he muttered to himself. “Right. We’re gonna have words. Oh, everyone’s gonna have a nice little chat! You!” he pointed at Nithael violently. “Let’s go.”

Crowley didn’t give the angel any options; he grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him towards the door.

“Wait!” Nithael squealed, probably mortified to be touched by a lowly demon. “Please! I don’t… Don’t we need a plan?”

“I have one, just told you,” Crowley hissed. They were outside, but nobody paid them any heed. Nithael seemed resigned to his fate, no doubt consumed by his guilt; it was a marvel any other angel than Aziraphale was able to feel anything, but Crowley didn’t care to question.

“Get in,” he spat as they got to the Bentley. “In the back!” he snarled when Nithael was about to open the passenger side door. That seat was taken. Nobody sat there but Aziraphale. Nithael withdrew his hand as if burned, and hastily settled in the backseat.

Crowley drove with as much demonic ill-will has he could, and could sense Nithael’s immense distress.  _ Good _ .

He didn’t have a plan. Chucking Nithael down the well seemed like a start, though. If the demon in the well liked angels, maybe he could exchange Nithael for Aziraphale. It would be an unfair trade, obviously, as Nithael was worthless, but Crowley had always been good at deception.

Or then he could just throw Nithael at the demon in distraction and bolt with his own angel.

He tried to focus on being angry with Nithael, but the horrible, crippling fear inside of him was trying its best to take hold of him. 

He didn’t want to think about where Aziraphale was right now, or what was happening to him, and yet it was all his mind tried to focus on. He forced his fears down - he couldn’t give in, because if he did, it would crush him completely.

Crowley had always been able to feel where Aziraphale was in the world. He wasn’t sure how, but assumed it had something to do with being able to sense angels; they smelled like Heaven, and Aziraphale’s scent was more than familiar to him.

Aziraphale was always on his radar. He had learned, over millennia, to seek out his aura, his scent, anywhere in the world. If he was far, it was harder to place him, but in the end they always found each other.

During the times Aziraphale had visited Heaven, his presence had been snuffed out of the world like a flame. 

During that time in the burning bookshop.

He thought he could feel Aziraphale now, but the source was nowhere. He couldn’t place it, but knew he hadn’t left Earth. Why he couldn’t sense him clearly, he had no idea - and he desperately didn’t want to think too hard about it.

_ Angel, wherever you are _ , he swallowed, his mouth dry. _ I’ll come to you _ .

Aziraphale didn’t want to open his eyes.

Everything ached.

The ground was cold and hard underneath him, and moving took far too much strength - strength he didn’t have; some unseen force, clearly demonic in origin, was weighing down on him.

Oh, this place was ancient. The demon here older than time.

He heard it - him - her - move nearby, and forced his eyes open.

A dead, dim glow, originating from nowhere, revealed a damp stone cavern, a hallway stretching into darkness, and a vile demon crouching some feet away, leering at him with those red, pitiless eyes.

“It awakes,” the demon croaked with a voice unused for centuries and centuries on end.

“Hello,” Aziraphale sighed wearily, forcing himself to a sitting position. He managed to get up enough to lean against a wall, and it felt like he’d climbed a mountain.

The demon watched him with unblinking eyes and an unwavering smile.

“Tell me,” the demon said, “how is Heaven, these days?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Aziraphale breathed. 

“Oh?” the demon crawled a bit closer. “Interesting.”

“Who are you?”

The demon regarded him curiously.

“They have called me many names,” was the reply. “I choose to call myself Angoroth.”

“Angoroth,” Aziraphale repeated. He suppressed a shiver of fear the demon’s gaze caused; the name felt like it should mean something to him. “Why do you live here… or, well, the castle cellar?”

Angoroth chuckled, and it was a horrible, wheezing, hacking sound.

“It’s quiet. And yet, hapless souls wander in steadily.”

Angoroth spread her - Aziraphale had decided this was a she, not that he thought it mattered to anyone at all - bony arms, and the angel looked around. He saw human bones scattered all over, and shut his eyes briefly.

“I deliver the souls to Satan, I dispose of the corporeal remains.”

“Lovely,” Aziraphale said drily. He was tired beyond belief, and the claw marks on his shin burned. 

“Keeping time is not important to me,” the demon remarked, then, “but I have a feeling an Armageddon should have happened by now. I’ve been waiting. Sleeping.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale sighed. “Well, there was a bit of a… It got cancelled.”

For the first time, the demon blinked. “Explain.”

“The Antichrist chose not to end the world,” Aziraphale said, not interested in elaborating. “And so it didn’t.”

“But the war,” Angoroth’s smile waned a little.

“Probably still coming,” the angel said vaguely. “Delayed.”

Angoroth made a sound like wind escaping a bagpipe. She crawled around, ending up on the low ceiling of the cavern.

“You’re less afraid than you should be,” the demon noted, staring at the angel and grinning again.

“Well,” Aziraphale sighed. He was so,  _ so  _ tired, so incredibly weary and worn out, that he had no energy left to be terrified. He was afraid, certainly, but staying conscious was taking up all his power. He simply couldn’t afford to be more afraid. “What are your plans with me, exactly?”

Angoroth dropped down from the ceiling, making an impossible twist in the air and landing on all fours. She swayed from side to side as she watched him, pondering.

“I haven’t decided,” she smirked. “I haven’t seen an angel in many, many millennia. Not since… well, I ate a few during the War. Tasted bitter.”

“Oh.” There was nothing he could say to that, but a chill ran through his whole being.

“You smell different,” Angoroth’s nostrils flared. “But then… I don’t quite recall what angels smell like. Though… you had a friend. The one who ran.”

Aziraphale said nothing. He didn’t know what had happened. Had Nithael managed to escape, or…?

“Is he coming back, I wonder?” the demon hummed, and Aziraphale was relieved. “To save you? The two of you, you smelled so strongly like Heaven that I couldn’t resist coming to look. I’m glad I did.”

Aziraphale was less glad.

“What do I do with an angel?” Angoroth mused, creeping closer. Aziraphale wanted to back away, but there was nowhere to go, and no energy left in him to flee. His heart beat faster and faster as the demon drew closer.

“You could let me go?” Aziraphale suggested, attempting to sound light and casual, but certain he failed to hide the genuine plea in his voice.

“No, no,” the demon grinned and reached a skeletal finger to touch his face; a sharp claw poked his cheekbone, and Angoroth dragged it down slowly, with just enough pressure to break skin and draw blood.

Aziraphale couldn’t hide a wince; the touch burned, seared his skin like no regular wound should.

“I will keep you,” the demon purred. “Until I know what to do. So many possibilities… opportunities… an angel at my disposal.”

She flicked her hand, and suddenly chains appeared out of nowhere and bound Aziraphale to the wall, coiled around his wrists, forced his wings out of hiding and wrapped painfully around them. It was a bit of an overkill, Aziraphale thought grimly, considering he wasn’t in any condition to move, regardless.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Angoroth smiled at him hungrily, and then crawled away, disappearing into the darkened tunnel.

As the demon left, the chains around Aziraphale tightened, and where they touched skin or feather, they burned; he held himself as still as possible to prevent the chains harming him any further, but his wings were in agony. His wrists and legs were mostly protected by a thin layer of cloth, but he could feel and see blisters forming on his bare skin. The chains on cloth were hot and stinging, and though they weren’t as bad, they were still painful.

Aziraphale did his best to quell the panic and despair building in his heart. He took a slow, calming breath and shut his eyes, relaxing the best he could against the stone. He needed a plan, but the demonic energy resting all over him and the pain binding him prevented him from moving, from thinking clearly; Angoroth was, if anything, a very powerful demon.

He hoped Nithael wouldn’t come. He could not withstand this, not on his own - and Aziraphale rather doubted that any other angel would care to even try.

He did hope Crowley would come. Crowley always found him, no matter what the era or situation. But no, why would he? Hadn’t he done everything to drive Crowley away? Explicitly told him to leave him alone last time they had met? Hot tears burned behind his lids.

_ I should never have taken Nithael here. I should have left the well be, as Crowley said. Oh, my dear Crowley… I’m so sorry _ .

Weariness he had never felt before enveloped him, it swirled around him like smoke and engulfed his very soul. He knew it was Angoroth, her malice and power, that was chaining him both mentally and physically. It smothered and weighed on him, and soon all the could do was struggle to stay conscious. He stopped thinking about anything but staying awake; he sat completely still to conserve energy, blocked out all thought. He withdrew into himself, locked himself away in a corner of his mind, willing himself not to succumb. 

But Angoroth had laid a powerful spell on him. It poked and prodded, until it forced entry into his core and chased after his consciousness, catching it ravenously and plunging the angel into darkness.


	7. Desperate Measures

Nithael felt like he was not cut out to be a principality; he didn’t understand humans, he didn’t fit in with them, and he was _terrible_ at thwarting evil - here he was, fearing for his corporation’s life as a demon drove him towards another demon in a metal casket with wheels, only narrowly avoiding buildings, people, and other obstacles.

He had been on Earth for less than six months, and already he felt like he’d failed. Guilt and regret burned him. No matter how much he’d read about demons and dark miracles, he hadn’t been ready for an encounter with the other side at all. When that demon had grinned at him, and dragged Aziraphale down the well, his first reaction hadn’t been to fight, or utilize any of the theory he knew; after being paralyzed by fear, he had fled.

The only reason he didn’t just run back to Heaven and ask for any other job - he’d even do the paperwork for everyone else for a few centuries - was because of Aziraphale. He couldn’t leave him behind, not to a horrible fate like that, not the only angel who had cared enough to help him with his mission.

Before he’d been sent to Earth, he’d been given a pamphlet about the place. It was very compact, very general, and very unhelpful. He’d asked Sandalphon what it really was like down there, but he had been very dismissive and told him he’d figure it out, humans really weren’t anything too complicated, he’d said.

Nithael didn’t dare to say a word during the hellish drive to the castle. He wasn’t sure if Crowley was really planning on using him as bait, but he was starting to believe he might. He was a demon, after all, and even though Aziraphale seemed to think he wasn’t pure evil, Nithael hadn’t seen much proof of that. Maybe Crowley was just taking him to the castle to toss him down to the other demon - maybe they were in cahoots. Maybe the plan was to dispose of both principalities, and win acclaim in Hell? 

The demon had seemed so angry and spiteful with Aziraphale the other night, so rude and cruel. There was no reason whatsoever that Crowley would show any mercy on Aziraphale or him - after all, demons had no concept of mercy. 

Nithael tried to think of a plan, but was too afraid to focus his thoughts properly. He hadn’t prepared. He should’ve prepared. After leaving the castle, he would have had time to make a plan, bless some water for exactly this kind of situation, call for help… and he’d done nothing. He’d been too shocked and terrified to even think straight; he had no idea how he’d gotten to Aziraphale’s bookshop, he only remembered walking forward until he’d found himself in Soho.

Dread filled him as Crowley pulled up at the castle and commanded him to get out. The demon gripped him by the scarf, dragging him along violently.

“What are you going to do?” he whispered as Crowley led him along the dark hallways in the cellar. No reply.

And there it was, the accursed well, dark and foreboding as usual. It still emanated evil. Last time, Aziraphale’s presence had soothed Nithael slightly, but Crowley’s did exactly the opposite.

There was a single, white feather on the floor. They both saw it, and Crowley stood still as a statue. He knelt down and gently picked up the delicate thing, holding it for a moment. Nithael saw his hand trembling before the feather vanished in an angry miracle.

Nithael stood and watched as Crowley prowled around the well, curling and uncurling his fingers. His jaw worked rhythmically as he kept grinding his teeth. Finally, he crouched down and peered into the pit.

“Hey!” he yelled, and made Nithael jump at the sudden noise which echoed all around them. “Anyone there?”

The echo died, and there was no reply.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called, and Nithael thought his voice had a bit of a tremor to it, as if he was trying to hold back, or trying to keep his voice steady.

There was no reply, of course. Crowley stood up, fists balled.

“Well,” he said, fixing a gaze on Nithael. “Down you go.”

“Oh,” Nithael felt doom upon him. “Oh, no. Please, can’t we just… can’t we…”

He expected the demon to grab him and toss him down right then and there, but instead, Crowley miracled a long rope and attached it to a pillar nearby. He threw the other end of the rope down the well, and offered what remained of it to him.

“Start climbing,” Crowley’s voice was scarily calm and quiet. Nithael took the rope, staring at the demon.

“And then what?” he whispered, trying in vain to conceal his fear. He was sure the demon sensed it, anyway. That’s what demons did, he’d read, they sensed fear and all other negative emotions, and fed off of them.

“Then we’ll _sssee_ ,” Crowley hissed, and actually bared his teeth in a snarl; Nithael was reminded of a snake and a wolf simultaneously. “ _Climb_.”

Nithael opened his mouth to argue, but closed it soon after. He looked down at the well. He could still vividly see how Aziraphale had vanished down the pit, his eyes meeting his for a brief moment, fearful and desperate. He gripped the rope tightly. He would do his best to save him. He was sent on Earth to take care of the humans, to fight evil, and this was a prime opportunity. He would vanquish the demon, somehow, and Crowley too, if necessary. 

With a hard look at the demon, he gripped the rope tighter, did his best to quench his fear, and began descending.

To Nithael’s surprise, Crowley followed after him. He had rather thought the demon would stay up to make sure he wouldn’t escape, or maybe cut the rope, but there he was, climbing down with him. Nithael wasn’t sure if it made him feel better or worse.

The descent definitely made him feel worse. Every inch he moved, dread built up inside of him. Soon he was enveloped in total darkness, total stillness; if he and Crowley hadn’t made sounds as they climbed, it would’ve been total silence, as well. 

_Will this lead to Hell?_ Nithael wondered, fear strangling his heart. What if the well was an actual gateway to Hell? Could he survive that? Surely no angel had ever visited Hell and come back to tell the tale. It was as preposterous as a demon coming up to Heaven.

The climb seemed to last for an eternity. Nithael wondered if Aziraphale’s corporation had even survived the fall - what if he had been discorporated? What if this was all for nothing? What if the well would never end? It already seemed much, much deeper than a well had any need to be.

But suddenly, he realised there was a faint glow coming from below. It wasn’t of this world, but didn’t look like hellfire, at least. He glanced up, and saw the pale light reflecting from Crowley’s sunglasses as the demon looked down.

The rope ended, and Nithale dropped down on the ground; he didn’t land very elegantly, but at least his corporation stayed intact. Crowley followed after him.

Nithael took in their surroundings. They were in a large cavern, with tunnels branching in multiple directions. His insides ran cold as he noticed human bone fragments scattered around.

“Now what?” he whispered, not daring to speak any louder.

Crowley didn’t answer, but looked around.

“He’s here,” he muttered to himself. “Or… was here…”

“The demon?”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley growled at him. Nithael blinked.

“It’s fading,” the demon was as tense as a wire, looking into the darkness, his adam’s apple slowly bobbing up and down as he swallowed.

“What is fading?” Nithael was very confused; he was anxious and scared, and was desperate to stop standing still - if they could only leave, hide, move, _something_. Crowley’s fingers flexed nervously.

“Him… his…” the demon shook his head slightly, as if unable or unwilling to describe whatever it was he was sensing. Then, without another word, he began striding along a tunnel. Nithael followed, and didn’t dare to question.

He felt their feet were making far too much noise. Every step seemed to echo and rattle in the silence, and he was constantly sure the vile demon was soon going to ambush them. The unnatural light made everything look wrong and ominous.

Then the tunnel widened into a small cavern. There were more human bones scattered on the ground, and Crowley stopped so abruptly that Nithael almost ran into him. When he regained his balance, he saw what had caused the stop.

There, at the end of the cavern, was Aziraphale, sitting still against a stony wall, eyes closed. His wings were spread, twisted uncomfortably by the chains which also ensnared his body.

He looked like a sacrifice, a bird nailed to a wall as a warning. It made Nithael’s heart ache with pity and compassion, and made his breath quicken in fear. 

Nithael didn’t have time to react before Crowley was already kneeling by the angel’s side.

“Aziraphale,” the demon called quietly, a hand on the chain tying Aziraphale’s wrists. Nithael went closer, and as he did, he felt a potent dark aura radiating from the angel. He had to take a steadying breath just to be able to step beside Crowley. A darkness seemed to encircle Aziraphale, a horrible, oppressive air of evil oozing around him; and Nithael could barely feel Aziraphale’s own essence in the middle of it all. 

“Come on,” Crowley begged through his teeth, fingers working on the chains but eyes firmly on Aziraphale’s face. “Time to wake up. You don’t ever sleep, anyway. Open your eyes, angel, and we’ll get the fuck out of here.”

Aziraphale didn’t stir, and Crowley was starting to fumble with the chains; he swore as he couldn’t remove them, and steadied himself by holding the angel’s hands in his own.

The moment looked so very intimate, the demon’s head bowed and his hand resting so gently on the angel’s. Nithael didn’t know where to look, and suddenly felt like he was intruding on something. 

This wasn’t right. This wasn’t genuine, couldn’t be. Demons were incapable of any compassion whatsoever, and Crowley was just trying to fool him. Anger flared in him for a brief moment - how _dare_ Crowley use Aziraphale like this, for his own sinister machinations? 

“There’s a very potent demonic aura over him,” Nithael’s voice cut through the moment sharply as he watched the demon with utter contempt. “It has overpowered him.”

“I can see that,” Crowley snapped. He continued to fiddle with the chains, trying to tear them away. Nithael didn’t want to go any nearer to the horrible darkness lurking over Aziraphale, but he braved himself; his fellow principality needed him. He stepped forward and grabbed a chain holding a wing to the wall, but gasped in pain and withdrew the second his fingers touched the seemingly ordinary-looking bonds.

He stared at his fingers in shock; his skin blistered and bled, and when he miracled the wounds away, his hand healed very slowly. He should have known better.

“Demonic chains,” Crowley noted with a forced air of casuality; Nithael saw him pulling Aziraphale’s sleeves down to shield his skin from the chains as much as possible.

“Can you get them off?” Nithael asked, swallowing his pride and leaving the chains alone. His head wasn’t working properly. Of course he knew about demonic chains, he’d read about them so many times… but everything felt so different in reality. The demon’s aura was more oppressive, the evil so present… none of the scriptures had truly described it.

Crowley grumbled something, pulling and yanking at the chains, seemingly in vain.

“I need time,” he muttered.

“We don’t have-”

“I bloody know we don’t have time!” 

Nithael fell silent. He watched Crowley’s efforts, and didn’t know what to think. The demon seemed to want to free him, but… to what end? What was there for him to gain? The urgency in Crowley seemed so genuine, but Nithael knew demons were vile creatures, full of lies and temptations. Aziraphale had tried to convince him that Crowley wouldn’t hurt him, that it wasn’t all black and white, but as Nithael stood there next to the demon and felt the stench of evil, he couldn’t agree. He was saddened to think Aziraphale had seemingly fallen under Crowley’s influence - six thousand years of contact must have broken him - but he knew the reality of their predicament right now.

They needed to free Aziraphale, that was the main goal; and Nithael knew that if his fellow principality was conscious, they could try to fight the evil together. 

Freeing Aziraphale seemed to be Crowley’s aim, too, so for now… they were fighting for the same goal. It rubbed him the wrong way, but he couldn’t deny it.

“Maybe I could…” Nithael eyed the scene in front of him, grasping at any idea that would come his way. “He can’t fight this on his own, but maybe I could… I don’t know, counter this, even just a bit?”

Crowley looked at him, and Nithael swallowed. 

“If I tried pushing the darkness away,” he continued, “then maybe Aziraphale could break through?”

The demon got up slowly, his eyes firmly on him now; though he couldn’t see them behind the shades, Nithael was sure Crowley was narrowing his eyes at him.

“Try,” he said curtly.

“You should probably step back a bit…” Nithael warned. “I’m not sure what will happen if you…”

Crowley looked like he was about to scoff at the idea that Nithael would be able to hurt him in any way, but retreated safely behind his back. It made the angel feel quite anxious. Truth be told, he wouldn’t mind one bit if Crowley was hurt, but given their current situation, Nithael rather liked having company. Even if said company might turn against him at any given moment.

He knew that if he had to choose, he would take Crowley over the other demon any day. 

“Right,” Nithael cleared his throat. He wasn’t exactly sure what he should do, or how he should do it, but he figured that all he needed was divine power. Aziraphale was trapped in demonic darkness, so angelic light would, in theory, counter it. Or at least even the odds. 

He calmed himself and concentrated on the divine; he summoned whatever power he could muster, gathered it in his arms, his chest, his temple. He felt it pooling in his eyes, in the back of his consciousness. He felt the darkness in front of him, and opened his eyes. He focused his gaze on Aziraphale, and pushed the light forward. 

It was met with immediate resistance, and Nithael frowned. The demon’s power was enormous, and he already knew he couldn’t break its influence on his own. He needed Aziraphale to meet him halfway, needed his power to expel the evil between them.

Nithael pushed, pushed with all his might, tried to reach Aziraphale in the middle of the darkness, but his light would not meet him. The barrier was too strong, and Aziraphale made no sound, did not move, there was no recognition from him, his light did not reach out to meet his. The cavern was too steeped in the demon’s influence; it dripped from the walls, circled in the air, and was tied in the chains.

In a desperate final effort, Nithael blasted all of his might against the demon’s, and he thought it fractured the evil shield slightly - but the exertion was too much for him, and his light dimmed as the darkness proved too strong.

He breathed heavily, and noticed Crowley walking back to Aziraphale.

“Didn’t work, then,” the demon stated drily.

“It did,” Nithael argued. “The darkness cracked, I could feel it. I’m just… I can’t do it on my own. Or perhaps I could, if I had enough time…” _Perhaps if I wasn’t surrounded by demons and demonic evil,_ he thought bitterly.

Crowley snorted, and Nithael knew there was no time. He straightened himself, fists balled, disappointed in himself and desperate to help.

He was a scholar. He was not one for smiting. He hesitated. He had never used force, had never had to even try - there hadn’t been much need in the divine archives. But he knew it might work now.

“If I can’t reach Aziraphale,” he swallowed. “Maybe we can cut him loose, and just… carry him away. I could… I could probably get him out of here, with a few miracles, and get him back to his shop… If we can break the chains.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Crowley snided, trying to tear away the chains growing from the stone itself.

“I meant,” Nithael extended an arm nervously, and Crowley stared as a sword manifested in his hand, “with some force.”

“Oh, well, wonderful, _lovely_ ,” the demon sputtered. “Might have tried _that_ from the start instead of that divine light nonsense!”

Nithael hid his embarrassment; there was some truth to Crowley’s words. He didn’t often remember his sword. It was always an afterthought, but always within his reach. He’d been carrying the sword with him, hidden away, ever since he’d been issued it. 

He’d never used it, as far as memory served. But he knew in the very depths of his mind that the sword had seen battle.

“I think this will cut it,” Nithael said as the blade burst in flame, but when he raised the sword to strike the demonic chains, a chill ran down his spine. He felt a presence approaching, and looked into the dark tunnel in fear. Crowley seemed to notice, too, and stepped towards the darkness. Nithael hid the sword away, unsure of what to do.

“Listen,” Crowley hissed quietly to him, “leave the talking to me, and for whoever’s sake, _play along_.”

It took all of his might not to cower as the horrid demon appeared from the darkness, its long limbs nothing but skin and bone, its matted hair coiled around its body like a shroud. The red eyes shone bright in the dark, and its grin was ravenous as it looked at him. Nithael shuddered as those eyes tried to stir a long-lost memory in him, and fear trapped him in his place.

“Hello there!” Crowley called, and the demon fixed its eyes on him curiously.

“I thought I could feel Heavenly energies,” the creature wheezed, and it was a sound no living thing should make.

“Yeah, that one decided to come looking for his friend,” Crowley nodded towards Nithael. “Sorry to trespass on your turf, but I couldn’t help but follow the idiot.”

“It’s been a long time since I had this many visitors,” the demon croaked, and a hacking, coughing sound escaped it; Nithael realised it was laughing. “Well, visitors who I hadn’t dragged down here myself. Who weren’t merely screaming in terror.”

“Nice place you’ve got here,” Crowley chatted, hands in his pockets, eyeing the surroundings. “A bit damp for my liking.”

“I enjoy it,” the demon grinned. “Who are you?”

“Crowley.” He paused and regarded the demon, as if considering if he should leave it at that. He went on: “Or, in some circles, the Serpent of Eden.”

“Ah,” the demon wheezed. “I have heard of you, a long time ago I heard of your work. But it’s been many millennia since I paid any attention to anyone.”

“And who might you be?”

“Angoroth,” the demon replied. “Or as some call me, the Devourer of Angels.” It glanced at Nithael, who couldn’t help but shut his eyes to steady himself.

“Oh, yeah,” Crowley drawled, sounding like he already knew. “I know you! You haven’t been around much lately, have you? Not since the War.”

“I’ve been waiting for Armageddon,” the demon hummed. “But the angel said it got cancelled.”

“Yeah,” Crowley shrugged. “Nasty business. I could fill you in with a few details, if you want.”

Angoroth seemed to consider this, swaying its body to and fro. 

“Yes,” it replied. “Do that. But what of this one?” it looked at Nithael, eyes burning with what the angel thought was hunger.

“Oh, right,” Crowley flicked his hand and chains appeared around Nithael’s wrists and ankles, catching him off-guard and making him lose balance and fall down rather painfully. 

“Don’t you do anything stupid, now,” Crowley wagged a finger at him. “And under no circumstances _attempt to escape with your friend_. We’ll be back soon!”

Crowley walked away with Angoroth, the former talking constantly and the latter glancing behind and licking its thin lips.

It only took Nithael a brief moment to realise Crowley had left the chains so loose he could just shake them off. They didn’t even burn, and dissolved into nothing before they hit the floor. He got on his feet.

Nithael stood still for a good while, until Crowley’s voice faded and he was left in silence. He took a determined breath and summoned his sword, hoping that the demons were far enough to not hear or feel what he was about to do. He raised the sword, and struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go until the bit we've all been waiting for...


	8. Angoroth

The further away Crowley walked from Aziraphale, the worse he felt. He wanted nothing more than to return to his angel, free him of the chains and heal his wounds, look into those clear eyes and call him a bastard, and sprinkle their conversations with _ I told you so _ for weeks to come. Years, even. He wanted Aziraphale to tut at his dumber jokes, wanted to hear him gush about a dinner or a play, wanted him to carefully suggest a night cap, and desperately needed to stare at him for hours in a drunken haze when the only light was a faint lamp in the back of the bookshop, and the sparkle of the angel’s eyes.

Instead, he found himself walking alongside the Devourer of Angels, a rather famed demon who’d been a pretty effective asset in the War. Crowley’s memories of it were hazy at best, and anyway it wasn’t a thing he liked to recall; but everyone knew the Devourer, and everyone knew she’d torn angels apart and consumed them to their very core.

Crowley didn’t remember her being quite this wretched or creepy, and was pretty sure she’d been way more impressive back in the day. 

He prattled on, talked nonsense as they walked away from the angels, and hoped against all hope that the idiot Nithael would get the hint and take Aziraphale out of there ASAP. He had no idea  _ how  _ Nithael would manage it, but he’d seemed moderately confident. 

As much as he hated leaving Aziraphale to Nithael’s care - he bristled at the word - he was fairly sure that the idiot would try to get him out of there. And as long as Aziraphale was out of there, there was hope.

“Anyway, enough about my housing preferences,” Crowley said as they had walked quite a while already, and he’d exclusively been talking about what kind of climates he preferred the most. “The angel actually told you about Armageddon?”

“He did indeed,” Angoroth said. “Not much. Said the Antichrist didn’t want to end the world. Sounded suspicious to me - tell me how it happened.”

“Ah, yes, never trust an angel,” Crowley nodded. “Here’s what  _ really  _ happened…”

And he spun quite a tale for Angoroth. Obviously, he left out how he and Aziraphale had tried their hardest to prevent the Armageddon - wasn’t the sort of thing he should be boasting about in current company. He did make a big deal about how he was the one given the task of delivering the Antichrist to his mortal family, and it might even have impressed Angoroth a little to hear how much Downstairs trusted him.

After that, he had to leave out quite a bit. He made it out to seem as though the Antichrist had always been meant to be raised in Tadfield, and when Angoroth wondered at the decision, he wholeheartedly agreed that it seemed a bit weird.

He told of a witch who had set out to kill the Antichrist, and who had successfully tracked him to Tadfield, but how Crowley had then foiled her plan by running her over with his car. 

He spared no detail in describing the horrors the Antichrist had caused leading up to Armageddon, and lingered long on the splendour of the ring of fire encircling London, on the highway he’d designed in Satan’s honour.

He blamed the Antichirst’s decision fully on his human friends, a harlot, and a witchfinder. He also claimed Ligur had been in charge and botched the whole thing.

Angoroth made a strange wheezing sound of distaste and seemed to buy the story.

“So, anyway,” Crowley cleared his throat. “That’s what’s been happening lately. What’s going on with you? Planning on checking in with Head Office anytime soon?”

“I suppose I might,” the demon replied, and Crowley could only imagine the looks on everyone’s faces as the truth would unravel. “But I’m quite comfortable here.”

“Still eating people?”

“Of course,” Angoroth purred. “But I grow tired of humans.” She licked her lips.

“You, uh, preparing an angel snack, there?” Crowley tried to hide the discomfort in his voice.

“I wasn’t sure,” Angoroth replied. “When I just had the one, I thought I could wait. It’s been so long since I saw one, I wanted to take my time… toy with him, relish the screams, break him apart, and then, perhaps, after a decade or a few… bit by bit...”

Crowley suppressed a shudder at the thought of his angel suffering at the Devourer’s claws.

“Now that there’s two of them…” Angoroth grinned and fixed her red eyes on him. “Things have changed.” She stopped walking, and regarded Crowley curiously.

“Why did you come down?” she asked. “Why did you follow him? How did you know he was here?”

“I was in the area,” Crowley shrugged. “When you took the other, the one left behind was quite disturbed, so I followed him around. I never thought he’d be brave enough to come back, but he did, and I figured I might as well make sure he doesn’t get second thoughts.”

“How helpful,” Angoroth’s laugh hacked. “And what do you expect from me, for delivering another angel to me?”

_ Give Aziraphale to me and take a long bath in holy water for hurting him, you absolute wanker _ , was the obvious reply, but he discarded that. Instead, he went with, “Oh, just don’t take all the credit for killing two angels when they sing your praises Downstairs, I  _ did  _ help with the other one, mind. And I’m definitely putting that in my report.”

“That’s why I haven’t bothered to visit,” Angoroth scoffed. “Endless reports and bureaucracy to last a few lifetimes. Dagon’s gone a bit mad with the stuff.”

“Tell me about it,” Crowley snorted. “You should see her these days. Lord of the Files, they call her.”

“Well, I’m impressed by you, Serpent,” Angoroth hummed and turned around. They began walking back to where they had come from, and Crowley was getting more and more nervous every step. Had Nithael managed to do anything at all? “But I’m suspicious of you, as well. It seems oddly selfless, this behaviour of yours.”

“I don’t think so,” Crowley shrugged. “I deliver an angel to you, that’s one simple report and a pat on the back for assisting the Devourer. I don’t know if I could kill them, anyway. The way I see it, I get credit while you do the actual work. And paperwork.”

“I have no plans whatsoever to do paperwork,” Angoroth grinned, and Crowley laughed. She was silent for a moment, but then continued: “The two angels… they are different. They smell different.”

“Don’t all angels? Sort of?”

“The coward is drenched in Heaven’s reek,” Angoroth grunted. “But the other one doesn’t smell as strong. As if it has faded. Can’t you tell?”

“I mean, of course,” Crowley lied. “Obviously.  _ Blergh _ . Disgusting. Both of them.” He hadn’t noticed. Nithael did smell unpleasantly live Heaven, but Aziraphale had always smelled… nice. Crowley tried to think back to the very beginning, but couldn’t recall if the angel had smelled the same. Maybe he’d gotten so used to it over the millennia that he didn’t notice, or maybe Aziraphale had spent so little time in Heaven that the smell had indeed faded.

Or maybe the smell wasn’t as strong to Angoroth because Aziraphale wasn’t welcome in Heaven anymore.

Unfallen but unwelcome.

The nearer they drew to the cavern where Angoroth had trapped Aziraphale, the more clearly Crowley started to realise the absence of angelic presence - and judging by Angoroth’s angry hiss by his side, she was noticing the same. She dashed forwards, crawling on all fours like a lizard of some description, and Crowley followed. He took note that the rope he had miracled was gone, and the pit to the well was empty.

Angoroth gurgled out a scream, and when Crowley caught up with her, he saw that the wall where Aziraphale had been chained was now empty, save for the chains hanging there, broken and pathetic. There was no sign of Aziraphale, or Nithael. His heart skipped in relief.

Crowley kept his distance as Angoroth seethed by the wall.

“How?” she wheezed. “He did not break my barrier. He could not have.” She hunched there like a spider. “The other one,” she hissed, and turned to Crowley. “Did you chain him properly?”

The malice in her eyes flamed. 

“Of course I did!” Crowley pretended to be offended. “What do you take me as? I’m the Serpent of Eden, I delivered the Antichrist! I can miracle a few chains, thanks very much.”

Angoroth narrowed her eyes at him, but seemed to believe him, for now. “The other one was stronger than he seemed.”

“Yeah, he did seem like a wimp,” Crowley agreed. “But from what I gather, he was a principality, so probably not completely useless.”

“I won’t accept this,” she spat. “They were mine. I want them. I will tear off their wings and strip them of their skin bit by bit. I will end them.”

Crowley didn’t like this sudden determination.

“They’re probably back in Heaven by now,” he suggested. She shook her head and grinned viciously.

“The other one can’t enter,” she said. “Not with my mark on him. He’s still here somewhere.”

_ Damn it. _

“I’ll help you look,” Crowley offered a bit too eagerly. “But the world is pretty big…”

“I can always track down an angel or two,” Angoroth gurgled. She turned and brushed past Crowley, and when he followed, he saw her jumping up to the well and climbing up effortlessly. Crowley turned himself into a snake; it was much quicker and easier to get up that way.

If he could only get to Aziraphale before Angoroth, maybe there was hope. And he hoped to any deity willing to listen that Nithael had managed to take Aziraphale away.

For the first time in centuries, Angoroth crawled out of the castle, into the world, and Crowley followed. She looked around the darkened moors, squinted her eyes at the brightness of the setting sun, and radiated anger.

“They were just here,” her nostrils flared.

“I’ll look in London,” Crowley suggested. “I know the place, I can make quick work of it. Meet you back here in a… week? Fortnight?”

“Three days,” Angoroth growled. “If I haven’t found them first. If I find them, I will not wait for you.”

“Fair enough,” Crowley agreed. Without another word, Angoroth turned herself into a mangy wolf, and ran off into the moors.

“And fuck you too,” Crowley muttered. 

He’d rarely driven so fast back to London. He still couldn’t quite sense Aziraphale the way he had used to, but he knew the angel was still around. And where else would he be but the bookshop? If Nithael had taken him elsewhere, he was more of an idiot that Crowley gave him credit for.

Crowley jumped out of the car the moment he could and miracled the bookshop door open - but as he tried to enter, an unseen barrier stopped him and stung his skin. He recoiled, and then slowly tried to put his hand over the threshold; it burned, and an invisible force pushed him back.

_ Wards _ .

Nithael had put wards on the door.

Crowley snarled in rage and strode to a window - warded. He ran along the shop until he found a small window not yet warded, and turned himself into a serpent once more. He slithered inside.

He could smell Nithael the moment he got in. He tracked him and found him on the other side of the shop, placing those hideous wards on the windows - not a bad idea per se, but a low blow to do it while Crowley wasn’t there. This angel was a particular kind of bastard.

Crowley turned back into his human form and Nithael jolted around, sensing him.

“You  _ basssstard _ ,” Crowley hissed at him, approaching with purpose. “You  _ absssolute  _ waste of an angel! How dare you try to ward me out?”

“It was for our protection!” Nithael exclaimed fearfully. “I didn’t know if Angoroth was going to find us, I didn’t have time to cover any tracks, or…”

Crowley kept approaching and was not interested in any excuses. Nithael looked scared, and suddenly drew his sword. Crowley stopped and seethed as the weapon glinted between them.

“Don’t come any closer!” Nithael warned, fear in his eyes but his mouth a determined line. “Or I… I will use this! I don’t know what kind of hold you have on Aziraphale, but I’m sure he’d be better off without your-”

“Where is Aziraphale?” Crowley interrupted. Nithael said nothing, but his eyes flickered to the backroom. Crowley turned on his heels and headed that way, leaving Nithael to brandish his weapon, alone and confused.

He found Aziraphale laying on the sofa, facing the back of it, his mangled wings spread out. They had bleeding burns where the chains had dug into them.

Crowley was so relieved to see his angel that he didn’t know what to do. Nithael had followed him, having thankfully hidden his weapon and decided now was not a good time to make more enemies.

“I, uh, managed to bring him here,” Nithael said sheepishly. “It took quite a few miracles and unconventional travelling… I don’t think anyone saw us. Much. I was going to heal his wounds, but I rather thought the wards were important…”

Crowley wouldn’t look at him. He kept his eyes firmly on Aziraphale. “Angoroth says she’ll find you,” he began. “So you better finish with those wards.”

“But,” Nithael cleared his throat. “You…”

“I can’t be warded out if I’m here, can I?” he rolled his eyes. “Just make sure no demon gets in. Hurry up, Angoroth promised to eat your skin!”

Nithael looked absolutely horrified, but made a noise of agreement - or that’s how Crowley interpreted it. Nithael turned his eyes on Aziraphale. “He hasn’t stirred,” the angel explained. “I’ll… I’ll do the wards, and…” He spread his arms tiredly and sighed.

The angel hurried off to ward any and all remaining entrances to the bookshop.

Crowley stood there and watched Aziraphale’s still form. There was no expression on his face, nothing to indicate he was in pain, or in distress, or… there. 

He snapped his fingers, and all curtains in the shop drew over the windows. He sat down in a chair next to him and lifted a beautiful, white wing gingerly across his lap. He ran his fingers along the soft down, the sleek primaries, and wished he could miracle the wounds away. He tried, but couldn’t heal a wound caused by another demon on an angel. 

“I’m sorry for not getting there sooner,” he whispered. “I knew you weren’t going to give up on that place. I should’ve just… we should’ve just gone together. And… I’m s- I’m  _ sorry  _ for what I said to you.” He stroked the wing gently, resisting the urge to reach out and bury his face in the angel’s neck, to beg and plead for him to wake up, to pour out all the difficult, scary emotions onto him and sob his apologies about it at the same time.

Something itched at the edge of his consciousness, and he realised it was Nithael warding the bookshop. Crowley’s core was trying to tell him to get out, but he would rather burn alive in heavenly light than leave Aziraphale’s side again. The wards would trap him there, but they’d also stop Angoroth or any other demon entering, if Nithael was any good at his job.

Crowley could sense every ward falling into place. It was a strange sort of entrapment he felt, and he quelled his natural instinct to run by smoothing out Aziraphale’s soft feathers over and over, watching his thin fingers glide over the purest white.

He remembered these wings in their glory, neatly folded behind the angel gazing beyond Eden. He remembered this wing sheltering him from the first rain, poised and protecting. He’d done nothing to earn it, and yet the angel had freely offered.

Crowley stared at the injured wing in his lap and couldn’t take his hand away. He kept caressing it, ever so gently, and when he felt the last ward lock into place, the motion kept him calm. He had nothing to fear as long as Aziraphale was there with him.

A nervous noise from the door alerted him to Nithael’s return. The angel looked embarrassed and avoided his eyes.

“The warding is done,” Nithael said. “You… you won’t be able to leave, so… if you want to leave, I can undo one…”

“I know.” 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale’s wings again. “Can you heal him?”

Nithael let out a heavy sigh. “Yes, but… I am very drained. I’ll need to gather my strength for a moment.”

Crowley didn’t nod or say anything, but grudgingly understood. Nithael sat in the chair furthest from him and watched him carefully.

“Is that demon really planning to…” the angel looked absolutely mortified when he referred to Crowley’s earlier words.

“Oh, most definitely,” Crowley hummed. “She was very upset. She meant every word, and I’ve seen her handiwork - very thorough. She had big plans for you both.”

“What plans?” Nithael’s voice was but a whisper, as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know or not.

“I think she just wanted to eat you, slowly,” he shrugged, fixing his eyes on the angel. “She likes to play with her food. A terrible habit.”

Nithael looked physically sick. 

“Do you think she’ll find us?” 

“Probably,” Crowley sucked his teeth. “Keep that sword of yours ready.”

“She can’t enter,” Nithael swallowed. “I made sure.”

“So? She’ll camp outside for who knows how long. She’s got nothing better to do, and she’s vengeful.”

There was a moment of silence. Crowley had stopped stroking Aziraphale’s wing when Nithael had come back, but had begun again without even noticing.

“Aren’t you bothered by this?” Nithael asked nervously. “Being warded inside with angels.”

Crowley gave him a dirty look. “I mind being warded inside with an  _ extra  _ angel,” he drawled, leaving no doubt as to who was considered the extra one.

“I don’t understand you, or him,” the angel shook his head. “I don’t understand why you seek him out, or why he lets you. He hasn’t fallen, and he assures me he’s not been corrupted, either. So… I don’t understand.”

“Then maybe you should shut your mouth and focus on stuff you  _ can  _ understand,” Crowley hissed. He was  _ not  _ about to have this conversation with Git-hael. “These wings need a few miracles.”

Nithael looked suitably chastised and came over. Crowley reluctantly gave him his seat, and the angel began miracling the wounds away.

“It’s hard,” he explained as the miracles worked slow and the wounds didn’t get immediately erased. “Demonic wounds, I’ve come to learn, aren’t something one can just miracle away in a blink of an eye.”

Crowley said nothing, and Nithael kept his eyes on the wings.

He hovered his fingers over a wound, and it knit together slowly, but surely.

“Can  _ you  _ miracle wounds away?”

The question took Crowley by surprise, and with the way Nithael still wasn’t looking at him, he was sure the angel feared his reaction.

“Sure,” Crowley found himself answering. 

“I didn’t know,” Nithael murmured. “I didn’t know demons could…” he flexed his fingers before moving on to another sore. “Can you… have you healed  _ him _ ?”

This time Nithael looked at Crowley, but turned his gaze hastily away as Crowley stared at him, arms crossed.

Crowley’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he wondered whether Nithael should know or not. He was a prick, but he’d helped Aziraphale…

“I have.”

Nithael looked at him, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock and wonder.

“But…” he looked at Aziraphale’s wounds, and then back at Crowley.

“I can’t just  _ undo  _ another demon’s work, you idiot,” Crowley hissed. “Other injuries…” he shrugged. “I can, and I have.”

“And… has he… healed you?”

Crowley bowed his head and stared at Nithael over his sunglasses, letting the angel shiver at the sight of his eyes.

“Yes.”

Nithael’s world seemed to be doing cartwheels.

“Stings like a sucker, but yes.” Crowley straightened himself again.

“I didn’t know… I had no idea…”

Nithael was quiet for a long time, miracling away Aziraphale’s wounds, and Crowley watched. His eyes strayed to Aziraphale’s face more often than not, and he was disturbed to see no change in his expression.

When the work was done and Aziraphale’s wings looked pristine again, Nithael sighed and smiled. He raised both his hands, but then halted; he looked like he was about to do something, but hesitated. He glanced at Crowley nervously.

“Can I stow them away?” the angel asked, and Crowley frowned. “His wings, I mean.”

“I don’t know,  _ can you? _ ” 

“Well, yes, I mean,” Nithael stammered and turned red. “I know I can, I am  _ able _ . But… will you allow me…?”

_ What the ever-loving fuck _ , Crowley thought,  _ is this? _ He waved his hand dismissively, looking cool and casual. “Go ahead.”

Nithael waved his hands over Aziraphale’s wings in a covering motion, and the white feathers soon disappeared into the ether, hidden away like they usually were on Earth.

“You just asked a demon for permission,” Crowley grinned, and Nithael looked rather disturbed. “Are you really so scared?

“I don’t want to risk anything,” the angel replied. “One wrong move from me, and I suspect you’d… eat me, or something.”

“Wrong demon,” Crowley chimed. “Angoroth is more into eating.”

Nithael turned a bit green at the reminder.

“Anyway… I just want to help Aziraphale.”

“Why?” Crowley’s voice had far more bite to it that necessary. 

“It’s the right thing to do,” Nithael replied, as if it was obvious. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. He’s a fellow angel, a brother, a friend.”

“Uh-huh,” Crowley scoffed. “Would Gabriel agree?”

“Are you trying to talk me out of helping him?” Nithael frowned. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, but it just…”

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re really after,” Crowley snarled. “I don’t trust you.”

Nithael said nothing. He turned Aziraphale to lie on his back and healed the claw marks on his shin. He then attempted to heal the wound on his face, but nothing happened. He blinked in surprise, and tried again. Nothing.

“It won’t heal,” he muttered.

“Eurgh,” Crowley looked away. “It’s her mark. Or something. I’ve seen that kind of thing done.” He was disgusted, and he was angry; Angoroth had defiled his angel, marred his perfect face, tarnished his glow with her filthy hands.

“How do we remove it?” Nithael looked worried, and Crowley wanted to hate him more than he actually did.

“I dunno. It’ll probably vanish when her influence vanishes from his mind. Or something.”

“I will try again,” Nithael took a determined breath. “I’ll need to try and break the demon’s barrier. I can feel her presence all over him, and I can sense he’s retreated far into himself. If I can just push in enough for him to meet me… we could break her hold.”

Crowley sucked his teeth and stared at the angel. He hated giving Nithael so much control over this, but there was nothing he could do - he couldn’t drive Angoroth away, and Nithael claimed he could. Maybe. But the thought of Nithael pushing into Aziraphale’s mind was just… it was disgusting. It sounded too intimate. It sickened him that Nithael could get so close, know Aziraphale so thoroughly… one didn’t venture into another’s mind and not gain some connection.

Connection Crowley couldn’t have. Connection Aziraphale might not even want with him.

Crowley let out a soft curse. “Do it,” he spat. Nithael nodded. He placed both hands over Aziraphale’s expressionless face. 

“This might take a while.” He then closed his eyes, and Crowley squinted at the heavenly light softly shimmering under Nithael’s hands.

Crowley sat in the room for some time, but grew more and more restless as time passed. The light made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to leave his angel. Aziraphale wouldn’t move, his expression didn’t change. He was like a husk, a mortal vessel which no soul inhabited. He couldn’t stand it.

He fidgeted and jittered, picked up a book and put it down again. He stole glances at his angel and wanted nothing more than to talk to him, even if he couldn’t hear. Tell him he was sorry, ask him to wake up and berate him if he didn’t. But he couldn’t, not with Nithael there.

So he got up and paced. The wards got him on edge, on top of everything else. When the room grew too small, he wandered into the shop. He brushed his fingers on the spines of the books, and remembered how lovingly Aziraphale had handled them. He recognised certain books as his favourites, and could vividly see the gentleness with which the angel always caressed the pages.

He peered outside through the front door windows. People bustling about, doing their everyday things, going from A to B. Nothing suspicious. Nobody staring at the shop ominously, no angels or demons in sight.

The closer Crowley leaned towards the door, the more acutely he felt the ward. He knew he could not physically leave the shop; he might be able to open the door, but not step out of it. It was a decent ward, he had to admit. Might keep even Angoroth at bay.

For a while.

Crowley wandered upstairs, to the unused living quarters. He’d never actually been in Aziraphale’s bedroom, but it was exactly as he’d imagined it. Pristine, old-fashioned, twee. The closet was neatly arranged, his well-loved and good-quality clothes hanging there, or neatly folded in drawers. All of it out of fashion by at least six decades.

The bed looked soft and very much unused. It looked like Aziraphale had made it once, when he’d bought it, and never touched it since. The angel didn’t really sleep.

Crowley hesitated, but then flopped down on the bed. It  _ was  _ soft. He almost sank into it. He closed his eyes. It didn’t smell like Aziraphale. It smelled like linen and dust, it smelled new. 

He didn’t like it.

He knew there was a blanket on the comfiest armchair downstairs. The chair Aziraphale always sat in. The blanket he always draped over his knees or shoulders. 

Crowley wanted to wrap himself in it, get lost in the scent of it, in Aziraphale.

“Fucking fuck’s  _ fuck _ ,” Crowley hissed and rubbed his brows. He tried to stay calm, but could feel panic welling inside of him. What if Aziraphale wouldn’t wake up? What if the last thing he ever said to the angel was… well, the nasty things he’d said. 

This was yet another time they’d parted ways in anger, and Aziraphale had gone and perished afterwards. Well,  _ almost  _ perished. 

_ It’s gonna be alright, _ Crowley thought, trying his hardest not to remember a burning bookshop and the feeling of complete, utter loss.

He’d known it then, and he knew it now. Without Aziraphale, there was no point to stay. No point to go. There was just… no point. If he didn’t have his angel, what did he have? There was nothing on for him Earth without Aziraphale. If he ran to Alpha Centauri, there would be nothing there for him, either. Just endless loneliness, an eternity of  _ nothing _ .

Without Aziraphale, there was no reason to exist.

“Angel,” Crowley choked. “You  _ bastard _ . I need you. I know it’s pathetic. But I really, really do.”

He flicked his hand; in a minor miracle, Aziraphale’s well-loved tartan blanket appeared in his hands. He pressed his face into it, inhaled the scent of it, closed his eyes and fell asleep, wrapped in the warm wool of the blanket, his soul aching as he drifted off.

Crowley could sleep for very long periods at a time. A few decades or a century, if he so wished. But he didn’t really wish, not then - and the angelic wards all around him didn’t really let him rest for long, anyway.

When he woke up, it was bright outside. 

He hoped he hadn’t slept for too long, considering Angoroth was going to be waiting at the castle, and Nithael… what was Nithael doing, anyway?

Crowley dashed downstairs, cursing to himself for leaving him alone with Aziraphale. 

He burst into the backroom, saw Aziraphale still laying motionless on the sofa, and Nithael still sitting there. His hands were shaking over Aziraphale’s head, light still shining. But there was a frown on Nithael’s face, and it did not seem like a good sign. He opened his eyes and dropped his hands, the light dying. He let out a long breath and glanced at Crowley. He looked almost guilty.

“I… there’s been no change.”

_ No change.  _ Crowley looked at Aziraphale and sat down on the chair next to him. 

“Nothing?”

“No. It’s been… oh, ten hours, or so, since you left. I don’t think Aziraphale can break out of it, not in any reasonable time.” He watched the still form with a mournful look. “It must be awful, having a demonic presence in your head… trapped in your own mind, hiding.”

Crowley remained silent. He was scared, but covered the feeling with anger.

“I don’t think pushing with divine light will help,” Nithael continued and bit his lip. “I couldn’t reach his own light. The demon’s aura is too strong for me to battle head-on.”

Crowley wanted to scream. What use was this angel if he couldn’t use his angelic powers to counter Angoroth? Stupid, useless, annoyingly helpful-

“I think we need to infiltrate his mind.”

“S’cuse me, what now?” Crowley’s mouth hung open. “Infiltrate? His  _ mind? _ ”

“I’ve read about it,” Nithael looked up at him, so very unsure. “It’s possible to enter another’s mind and traverse through it to reach the core, his true self, the one he’s hidden and sheltered from Angoroth. I just need to meld my consciousness with his, and-”

“Nooo, no no no,” Crowley laughed mirthlessly. “I’m not letting you run amok in his head! Who knows what you’ll try to do…”

“Well, I don’t know what else to do!” Nithael looked seriously desperate. “I know it’s something that can be done, and if I could reach him, guide him…”

“Only if I can come.” Crowley’s words hung heavy in the air. He watched Aziraphale’s calm face, and it looked so unnaturally still and motionless…

“I don’t know if another demonic presence in his head is a good-”

“You’re too scared of Angoroth to go alone,” Crowley hissed. “If you get lost and scared in his head, I’m going to have to summon a bit of hellfire and sort you out…”

“Fine, fine!” Nithael wrung his hands. “Fine. I guess it’s possible. I’ll just… Alright. I need to make preparations.”

Crowley sat and watched as Nithael gathered candles and cleared out space in the room. It rubbed Crowley the wrong way to let him do it, it wasn’t right for him to touch Aziraphale’s stuff as if it was his own; but he endured it, because if this was a way to bring his angel back…

It also felt really, really wrong to light an open flame in the bookshop. Every hair in Crowley’s body bristled.

Nithael lifted Aziraphale into a seated position in the middle of the sofa and arranged the candles in a particular order, although he went and fixed them a few too many times…

“Have you done this before?” Crowley drawled. The fumble in the angel’s movements was all the answer he needed, but Nithael replied anyway.

“I know how it’s done.”

“So that’s a  _ no _ ,” Crowley let out a long, hissing sigh. “You better make this work. Incidentally, how do you know about this, anyway?”

“There are documents,” Nithael mumbled. “At Head Office. I had a job as an archivist, before. So I just… I read things. Documents on healing other angels and humans, helping with mental issues, cleansing impurities of the mind, demonic interference… this was among them. Breaking evil influences.”

“That’s your credentials?” Crowley could hardly believe it. “You read a document.”

“It’s not like I had a chance to try it, before,” Nithael huffed. “But I memorised it. I was always interested in thwarting evil, in theory… so, I thought that might come in handy. If ever a fellow angel was in danger.”

Crowley shook his head. “Can’t believe this. This had better work.” 

“Come here,” Nithael instructed, motioning to Aziraphale’s left side. “Sit beside him, and take his hand.” Crowley slinked across the room, and sat down next to his angel. He reached out hesitantly, and slid his hand into Aziraphale’s. It was warm, and though the angel didn’t register the act, it comforted Crowley. He looked at their linked hands, smoothed a thumb over the angel’s fingers, and wished so very dearly that one day, Aziraphale would again hold him back.

Nithael cleared his throat, and Crowley glared at him. 

“Now, I’ll need to focus,” Nithael explained. “You need to close your eyes. I’ll try to take us there, and… well. Aziraphale has probably withdrawn deep. We’ll be likely to encounter memories, flashes of the past, and our presence might evoke memories relating to us. Please, if and when we enter a memory, if you’re in it, you need to ask him to stay with you.”

“What? Mess with his memories?” 

“No, no,” Nithael shook his head. “We can’t alter his memories. Think of them more as dreams of past things, which you can affect. His mind will conjure up memories, or reflections of them, because it’s him that’s doing it; we will have a straight line to him if we talk to him in them. We need to ask him to stay with us.”

Nithael drew an unnecessary breath. “It’s more likely that you’re in his memories than I am. I haven’t known him for long. Just… take control when you can, coax him out of his shelter.”

Crowley nodded. He was starting to feel very uneasy about this. He didn’t want Nithael to be a witness to any part of his and Aziraphale’s past. There were secrets there that did not need an angelic intruder. 

Well… he could always try to dispose of Nithael afterwards, it things went pear-shaped.

Nithael closed his eyes, and Crowley did the same. He could feel energy tingling around him, soon, and it felt slightly unpleasant. Angelic power, and all that. And suddenly, he was falling - no, soaring? Moving in a direction, it felt, as reality twisted and rippled around him, until he was everywhere and nowhere, felt nothing and everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to theorize how Nithael got Aziraphale back to the shop, because I sure don't know. :D


	9. Aziraphale

“Fuck,” Crowley blurted out as he looked around. He knew this era. The 1340s in Europe had been bleak. 

A dreary, heavy day, mud everywhere, fog everywhere, silence hanging over the land. He was sitting on a low wall by the graveyard, dressed in the fashion of the time. Nithael was standing behind him, looking just as he had looked when they had left reality. He was staring in horror at the scene unfolding before them.

People, begging and crying. An endless stream of ragged, sickly people heading for the church, carrying their children, their siblings, their parents - their corpses. Many falling down and never getting up.

Behind them, bodies were unceremoniously wheeled in carts, and dumped into large mass graves. The air hung still, and the land smelled of death.

“I…” Nithael’s voice sounded weak and broken.

“The bubonic plague,” Crowley hummed. “A cheery bit in history. Pestilence really put his all into this.”

“It’s only a reflection of Aziraphale’s memory,” Nithael tried to convince himself. “Surely he’d remember the suffering as worse than it was… surely this isn’t…”

“No, seems pretty accurate to me,” Crowley replied. He looked at the harrowed angel. “You stick out like a sore, ugly thumb.”

“Ah, I wasn’t actually present at the time,” Nithael snapped out of his horror for a moment. “So I won’t be paid attention to here, unless I speak to Aziraphale directly, I think. I’m not actually sure how he’d react to me, or if he’d listen... It’s hard to explain. But if you were here at the time, I think you’ll have a better chance to reach him.”

Nithael eyed the miserable scenery. “I can’t believe this actually worked… but where is he?”

Crowley didn’t reply. He knew exactly. He remembered this, too. Remembered thinking that God had really outdone herself with this plague. Remembered thinking it would be almost too easy to tempt people afterwards - _how could a good God let this happen, there is no God, you’ve survived so you should live a little, a bit of sin never hurt anybody. You’ve deserved to enjoy earthly joys after this, because you lived._

Hell had claimed so many souls, afterwards.

Crowley remembered Aziraphale - and right on cue, there was the angel. He was walking among the suffering, dressed in a white monk’s robe, dirtied by mud and filth at the hem, his dark cloak dragging behind him. He looked just as hollow and worn as Crowley remembered. He walked along, stopping by every person. People held out their babies to him, and he placed his hand over their heads; at first, Crowley had thought he was healing them, but no - this was a part of the ineffable plan, after all.

Aziraphale wasn’t healing: he was giving them the last rites they so desperately wanted. He was miracling away their pain, so that they could die in peace.

It had broken Crowley’s heart then, and it did it again now, to see the incredible sorrow on the angel’s face. 

Aziraphale walked on as if he had no purpose left in life. A blessing here, a miracle there, pain lifted, and held within his heart.

And just like back then, the angel’s eyes met his over the death and misery of the people. There was barely a change in them, but Crowley saw it: the minute gratefulness, the recognition. Slowly, Aziraphale walked over, and Crowley watched him.

Aziraphale sat down on the wall, a measured distance away, as usual. He bowed his head and sighed. There were no words either could say, nothing that would make it better. 

Back then, Crowley had felt so powerless, so helpless. He had wanted to comfort the angel, tell him he’d done his best, that he’d done a good job, he’d helped the people - he had wanted to pull him close and tell him it was alright, that it would be alright. 

But he hadn’t, because he was a demon, after all. Instead, he had looked away, and subtly inched his hand close to where Aziraphale’s was resting on the cold stone. And he’d placed a couple of fingers on top of the angel’s. It had been so little, but yet so meaningful, and he had ached, longed for more, ever since.

It’s what he did now, and just as it had been then, the angel didn’t react; but he didn’t draw away, either.

They had sat there like that until darkness had fallen, until the moon had creeped upon the sky.

But this was not the past. This was a memory, a reflection. Nithael cleared his throat nervously, and Crowley remembered why they were there. He turned to look at Aziraphale and opened his mouth to say something - but his tongue felt tied, his movements were sluggish. He was trying to deviate from the memory, and it _resisted_. With effort, he took Aziraphale’s hand fully into his. 

The angel looked at him, eyes full of wonder, sorrow, and tears.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley rasped. “You did good.”

The angel shook his head slightly, not quite understanding what he meant.

“You’ve always done good,” Crowley breathed. “All this… Good. You. And… I- I need you to…” he swallowed. The words caught in his throat, loaded with too many layers of meaning. “I need you to stay with me.”

“I don’t…” Aziraphale looked almost scared.

“Hold on, okay? Just... don’t let do. Don’t give in. _Resist_.”

“What are you saying?” he tried to pull his hand away, but Crowley wouldn’t let him.

“Fight her,” Crowley insisted, and Nithael gasped; a shadow of Angoroth was lurking some distance away, behind Aziraphale. “Don’t give in. You can do it, and anywhere you are… I’ll come to you.”

There was a light of understanding in Aziraphale’s eyes, but then Angoroth screamed, the memory twisted and swirled into darkness, and the angel’s hold on Crowley’s hand was gone.

When the darkness took shape again, it was to a wildly different view. 

Crowley was still reeling from the emotional whiplash when he realised he was staring at a sandy horizon, witnessing the world’s first strom brew, standing under Aziraphale’s shielding wing, safe from the first rain. Watching Adam and Eve disappearing in the distance.

He didn’t know why he had inched closer to the angel when the rain had begun. It was new, and it was strange, and he was a cold-disliking snake - but stepping closer to the Guardian of the Eastern Gate hadn’t been the smartest thing to do.

Except it had, because Aziraphale hadn’t coiled away in fear or disgust. Instead, he’d lifted his wing, and taken Crowley under it, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do.

“The beginning,” Nithael gasped on Crowley’s left, and the demon bristled. Why did he have to follow along and make things worse? Crowley ignored him.

He remembered how they’d stood there together until the humans had gone from view, until the rain had passed and the first scavengers had reached the lion. They hadn’t spoken, and as the rain had eased, Aziraphale had drawn his wing away silently.

Crowley had made a comment about getting back to work. “See you later,” he’d said, and the angel had first nodded, before realising what he’d agreed to, and then looked appalled at the idea. Crowley had smirked, turned into a snake, and slithered away.

In the present, Aziraphale took back his pristine, protecting wing, and Crowley decided to press on with the mission. He hated that Nithael was there - he was an intruder, he had no place here, he didn’t need to hear any of the words Crowley wanted to say. However, Crowley knew Aziraphale was his priority (thinking back, he supposed it had been the case for several millennia already, anyway). He pushed through the set course of the memory.

“I watched you, you know,” he said. Aziraphale looked thoroughly confused. “Before coming to talk. I saw you guarding this place, and I heard you talking to yourself. And sometimes, sometimes you just looked so _bored,_ so done with this place, and I thought, ‘there’s an angel worth knowing more about.’ I’ve never regretted it, not for a second. I knew it was the right thing to do the moment you smiled at me so bloody genuinely.”

Aziraphale was staring at him, mouth slack and eyes wide.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he paused, searching for words. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. It’s just what came to mind. I’ve often thought about this moment, but this is wild, you know, it feels like we’re back here. But we can’t stay, and I wouldn’t want to - it was such a boring time, honestly.”

“What…”

“Come on, angel,” Crowley looked into his eyes and grabbed his hand, holding it tightly in his. “Let’s go home. No point living in the past.”

Aziraphale looked at their linked hands, and as he raised his eyes back on him, there was recognition shining back.

“Crowley,” he breathed. “She’s strong… so very strong. I have tried, but all I can do is prevent her from getting any deeper…”

Crowley’s eyes flitted to a dark mass forming behind Aziraphale. He ignored Angoroth’s shadow creeping closer and Nithael’s strangled gasp, and fixed his eyes on his angel.

“You can break out of it,” Crowley said hastily. “I know you can. Just hold my hand, don’t let go, and we’ll get out of here!”

Angoroth hissed behind the angel, making him jump and turn.

“Oh… dear me,” Aziraphale gasped, and the despair and weariness in his voice shook Crowley to the core.

“Come on, stay with me,” Crowley warned him, pulling the angel towards him as Angoroth approached. Suddenly, the demon’s shadow lunged and wrapped around Aziraphale, and darkness surrounded him. 

Crowley roared in rage as the world twisted around them again. He lost sight of Aziraphale, still felt his hand in his, but he was being pulled away until the angel’s fingers slipped away from his, and he was gone.

It was a very sunny, sandy part of the world when the darkness eased. A small village between a desert and a river. Crowley found himself watching a crowd of ancient humans who were quickly becoming a mob. Nithael stood beside him as they watched the gathering of men, all of them muttering angrily at something in their midst.

“When is this?” Nithael whispered unnecessarily. 

“Sometime after the Flood and before… something else,” Crowley mumbled. He didn’t want to bother with Nithael right now. He was craning his neck to see beyond the people, though he already knew the scene.

“Witch! Devil!” the men grumbled, shaking their fists aggressively.

“A witch hunt?” Nithael frowned. “Surely not this early in time....?”

“It’s not what you think,” Crowley replied. “Shut up.”

Weapons were drawn, and things looked about to escalate.

“Really, now!” a familiar angelic voice rang from the middle of the mob. “These accusations are quite unfounded…”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile. The situation had been quite dire at the time, but even then he’d found certain humour in it.

“You seduced my wife!” shouted one man.

“And my _son!_ ” exclaimed another.

“I did no such thing!” Aziraphale cried indignantly. “Really, you’ve got it all wrong - I came here to help -”

“We don’t need help from a devil!” the men yelled. “Leave! Die!” and then, “Get him!”

Things rather escalated, after that. The men charged, cast stones and whatever else they found on the ground. Aziraphale, white robes billowing, fled and ran towards the rocky hills nearby. The mob was relentless, and the angel had never been one for running. 

Just like back then, Crowley followed a different route, hiding behind rocks and trees, and crouched in a hidden crevice between large boulders covered by dry vegetation. Nithael was behind him, wide-eyed and bewildered.

Crowley felt Aziraphale coming before he ever saw him, and as the angel was about to pass his hiding place, Crowley reached out an arm and yanked him into the shelter. A quick miracle hid them both from the mob soon running past them, angry and confused.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley in absolute shock, but then his expression melted into wary relief. 

“Crawly.” His head was bleeding where a lucky stone had hit him, and his arms had small gashes where the nearest men had managed to strike him with their blades. The angel seemed oblivious to all of this, and sighed.

“ _Devil?_ ” Crowley grinned. “How wrong do things have to go for you to be called a devil?”

“Oh, it’s ridiculous,” Aziraphale huffed. “One little miracle, and suddenly I’m being called a witch. It’s like they -”

He stared at Crowley, eyes widening in realisation.

“You!” he gasped. “It was _you_ , wasn’t it? The one who’s been seducing people, letting cattle loose, spoiling water and whatnot…”

“Well,” Crowley smirked. “All in a day’s work, really. You should’ve come here sooner.”

Aziraphale looked scandalised. “I had planned on helping these people for at least a decade or two! I can’t even show my face here, now.”

“Oh, there’ll be other villages,” Crowley drawled. “They’ll welcome you with open arms.”

“As long as you’re not there first,” the angel pursed his lips. Crowley hadn’t been able to hide his smile at Aziraphale’s pout then, and he couldn’t, now.

He eyed the angel, and his wounds. 

“Your corporation is injured,” he remarked casually.

Aziraphale seemed to remember the fact only when he was reminded of it, and touched the welt on his temple gingerly. He stared at his bloodied fingers, and groaned.

“Oh, look at the state of it,” he grumbled. “And my robes!”

“So, miracle it better,” Crowley shrugged. Aziraphale glanced at him, and averted his eyes.

“It’ll heal,” he mumbled in reply.

“Yes, immediately after you miracle it.”

“The Upstairs wouldn’t like it,” the angel muttered.

“What?”

“I’m supposed to take good care of my corporation,” Aziraphale huffed. “And I’m not supposed to waste miracles for my own benefit.”

It was the stupidest thing Crowley had ever heard. He eyed the angel’s injuries. Back then, he had wondered if he could miracle them away. If demonic miracles would even work on an angel. If it would hurt. Or if they’d both just combust.

It had been part reckless curiosity and part unnamed desire to help that had made him do it, and he repeated his actions in the memory.

Crowley waved his hand over a gash on Aziraphale’s arm. The angel gasped and jolted, stared at him with widened eyes, and then looked at his arm. The wound was gone, and all that was left was the tear in the cloth.

“You…” he gulped. Crowley shrugged.

“What do you know. It worked.”

Aziraphale stared. He touched his arm gingerly, and found it perfectly unmarred.

“You miracled it away,” he whispered.

“I know,” Crowley replied. 

“Is it even… allowed?”

“Probably not. Did it hurt?”

“It burned,” Aziraphale frowned. “But… it wasn’t painful, not really.”

Crowley raised his hand again, brows arched in a question. Aziraphale watched him, conflicted, but relaxed his stance and nodded. Crowley miracled away the cuts on his arms, the welt on his head, and as a finishing touch, cleaned off the blood and fixed the tears in the fabric. Next to him, Nithael made a strange sputtering noise which Crowley ignored altogether.

Aziraphale examined his healed corporation, and then raised his eyes on Crowley. There were so many unasked questions reflected in them, so much wonder and doubt, that Crowley had wanted to do it over and over again. He had forever wanted to be the one who could shake the angel’s world, surprise him, baffle him, make him speechless. Crowley hadn’t realised it then, but now in the memory he knew this had been a crucial moment for him.

“Thank-” the angel began, but Crowley interrupted him.

“Don’t,” he made a face. “Better keep this quiet. I don’t think my side would be pleased with what I did.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale nodded, glancing upwards. “Likewise. Well. Is there anything I can do?”

Crowley had wanted to ask for so many things, ridiculous, wonderful things, but had restrained himself. Instead, he’d told the angel to repay the favour if ever necessary - and a few centuries later, he had done so, and more. 

Crowley fought against the memory once more - it was time to get on with the mission.

_Is there anything I can do?_

“You can stay with me,” he swallowed, taking the angel’s hand again. “And tell Angoroth to fuck off.”

It was rather more straightforward than before, but in the last memory Aziraphale had been aware; and now, after his initial shock and confusion, he remembered.

“She holds on so tight,” Aziraphale breathed, and as if on cue, darkness formed behind him once more. “I’m trying, I have been trying…”

“Just don’t let go,” Crowley said, but before they had time to do anything at all, Angoroth’s shadow had leapt on Aziraphale with a growl, and she tore him away, drowning them all in twisting darkness.

Crowley seethed in the void that followed, and cursed Angoroth with many imaginative names. When the world materialised again, he found himself sitting on a bus.

_Oh._

_Oh no._

_Oh no no no._

He looked to his right, and saw Aziraphale sitting there, staring at nothing with a solemn, a bit mournful look on his face.

Crowley didn’t have to think about taking his hand, because he was already holding it.

He turned his head, and saw Nithael sitting behind them.

_No. No no no._

This was not a memory Nithael needed to have any part in. It was too intimate, too personal, too dangerous.

The night after Armageddon-that-wasn’t. 

The way he and Aziraphale had gotten drunk, and sober, and drunk again during the two days after. The way they hadn’t left Crowley’s apartment. The way Aziraphale had broken down over the loss of his books, and how they’d both mourned their material losses together. How the angel had leaned into him, in his drunken haze, and how Crowley had slurred what he hoped had been soothing things into his hair.

How they’d reminisced about the past, each other; how they’d wondered about the future, and what it would bring. What it all meant for them.

How they’d deciphered Agnes Nutter’s prophecy, and subsequently cheated both Hell and Heaven.

No, Nithael definitely didn’t need to know any of it.

“Angel,” Crowley said firmly, and Aziraphale jolted beside him. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything,” the angel breathed readily, and Crowley swallowed as a tidal wave of trust, complete, absolute faith and love, crashed over him. “Yeah, s-so… Yeah. You need to promise not to let go.”

He held up their joined hands, and laced their fingers firmly together.

“What do you m-”

“Promise me, Aziraphale,” Crowley said between gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare let go. Stay with me. Promise me.”

“I- I promise,” the angel said, eyes wide open with confusion.

“Good, because we’re getting you out of here. She can’t hold us back.”

Again Crowley looked into his eyes to see that spark of recognition, and didn’t have to wait for long. Aziraphale glanced around and they both saw the outside of the bus growing ever darker.

“I don’t know if I can resist her power,” Aziraphale clenched his jaw. “I’ve tried so hard to break her barrier…”

“Yeah, well, she’s only one lowsy demon,” Crowley scoffed. “A recluse living in a well! She can’t defy all of us.”

“All of…?”

“Um, hello, Aziraphale” spoke Nithael from the seat behind him, and Aziraphale jumped in surprise.

“Nithael?!”

“Sorry about bringing him,” Crowley drawled. “He’s been a real killjoy the whole time.”

“ _I_ brought _you!_ ” Nithael exclaimed indignantly.

“Shut up,” Crowley waved his hand. “Point is, there’s three of us and one of her, and really, it’s only a shadow of her, anyway. As long as you don’t let go, angel, we can beat her.”

The look Aziraphale gave him was so full of hope and worry that Crowley had half a mind to wrap his arms around him - that way, there was no way of getting separated. He resisted, however, and soon the bus travelled in total darkness.

Angoroth hissed and gurgled all around them. Nithael manifested his wings, spreading them to shield them all; Crowley held Aziraphale’s hand tighter as their reality convulsed again.

They plummeted through darkness, and Crowley could hear Angoroth spitting curses at them, trying to grab Aziraphale and drag him away; but the angel held on, and Crowley held back, and there was no chance he was about to let go.

What followed was a harrowing fall through scattered memories, and not many of them good ones. There were things he recognised, and things he didn’t; there were dying humans, dead humans, agony and suffering, vain attempts to miracle things better. They fell through mocking laughter and words, contemptuous angels and demons. Words echoed in cacophony around them - _it’s over, I don’t even like you, I won’t even think about you, I don’t need you, leave me alone, I don’t like you, I don’t need you, it’s over…_

There was fire and flame, the smell of sulfur; there was a sense of the greatest loss, the agony of regret, burning pages flying through the air, Satan breaking through reality, Aziraphale being dragged down the well, Ligur melting into a puddle, Gabriel’s pitiless face lit by hellfire, and the feeling of loneliness, complete and utter loneliness, heartbreak and despair.

Flashes of memories older than time itself, some of them his but some _not_ ; hellfire and heavenly light clashing, darkness, chaos, screams; angelic eyes burning with holy light, pitiless and cruel, demonic claws ripping apart white wings. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see this, not again.

He felt Aziraphale’s hand slipping out of his, but he grit his teeth; he would not let it. He held on tighter, held with both his hands. He opened his eyes and met Aziraphale’s in the middle of the chaos - the clearest, brightest eyes he had ever looked into, and he knew he’d do anything to keep looking into them.

Then it stopped, all too sudden, and Crowley found his feet; his hand was still firmly in Aziraphale’s as they both stood up, shaking and bewildered. Nithael got on his feet beside them, his wings still out and ruffled in a very undignified manner.

There was darkness all around them, and they could only see each other. 

“Where are we?” Crowley’s eyes darted around the darkness like a bird looking for predators.

“The last place that’s wholly my own,” Aziraphale sighed. “You came for me. Thank you.”

His smile threatened to melt Crowley into mushy goo.

“We’re not out of it yet, angel,” he replied, but squeezed his hand in reassurance.

“I think we’ve got her attention, now,” Nithael piped up; they looked where he was pointing, and sure enough, Angoroth appeared from the darkness. It was a horrible, shadowy approximation of her, eyes flaming and teeth bared, oozing malice and threat.

“You are mine,” she snarled. “Mine. I hunger, I need…”

“Uh, nope,” Crowley huffed. “We’ll be leaving.”

Angoroth laughed, and it sounded even worse here than in reality; here, it was a deeper, raspier sound, more threatening but no less disgusting.

She lunged at Aziraphale, but Crowley yanked him away. Nithael summoned his sword; it burst into flame, and Crowley had to admit he wasn’t looking as wimpy as before, white wings spread and a weapon in his hand. He struck at her with surprising courage, but she dodged quick.

“Aziraphale, your sword!” Nithael called.

“I lost mine,” the angel replied. “It was taken back.”

“This isn’t reality!” Nithael cried and yelped as Angoroth tried to claw at him. “This is all in your head, you can have a sword here!”

Aziraphale blinked, then held out his hand; his own flaming sword appeared in his grasp, and Crowley thought the flames on it were much warmer than on Nithael’s.

“Angoroth,” Aziraphale’s voice rang clear and strong. The demon turned towards him with an ugly snarl. “Release my mind.”

“No,” she gurgled, lunging at him. Aziraphale used his sword to push her back and Nithael joined him in the effort. All the while, Aziraphale’s hand was firmly in Crowley’s.

“Please?” Aziraphale smiled wanly at Angoroth, who was beyond words. She growled and hissed, and then dispersed into shadows.

“Now what?” Crowley snarled at Nithael.

“Uh… well… Break through, I guess? Push forward!” Nithael called, and Aziraphale began walking straight into the darkness, Crowley by his side. Nithael walked behind them, shielding them with his wings.

It was like wading through deep water. There was resistance every step of the way, and all the while Angoroth’s distorted voice snarled around them. She attacked at random, and from different directions; Aziraphale held her at bay with his sword, Nithael batted his wings at her, sending her scuttering. Crowley punched her, once, and she dissolved into darkness, reappearing near Aziraphale again.

They advanced, they pushed, and they were relentless, but so was she. Crowley noticed the angels were getting more and more drained as they went, but Aziraphale especially, who had endured this for far too long. Crowley could only hold on to his hand and lend him whatever power he could.

He felt very strange, wading through demonic shadows while two angels radiated divinity beside him. The light from Nithael burned, the power from Aziraphale stunned, and Angoroth’s darkness felt more familiar than he cared to admit. But it was of Hell, and so was he - she couldn’t hurt him with her curses, but being stuck in the crossfire vexed him.

And yet at the same time, he knew that the physical sensations were nothing but his imagination. He wasn’t actually physically there, none of them were - he knew he could swim in holy water, and it wouldn’t kill him, knew Aziraphale could walk through hellfire and not perish; this was a mental battle, and they could not die here.

But Aziraphale could remain stuck in his own mind, overtaken by Angoroth’s rot, and that would not do.

Time had no meaning, and the walk seemed endless. What if they couldn’t make it?

_No_. Failure wasn’t an option. He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand harder, and the angel swung his sword at the swirling shadows, letting out a soft grunt as the flames from his sword latched onto the darkness, burning and sparkling at strands of nothingness; and Nithael fanned life into the flame with his wings, and the fire burned brighter.

Angoroth screamed, but it was too late - the fire burned a hole through the darkness, and light poured through - and then they were all falling, flying, plummeting, soaring - light was all around them, and Crowley gasped.

He was back at the bookshop, in reality, in the actual, physical world. The candles were still burning, it was dusk, and he was still holding Aziraphale’s hand.

Crowley raised his head and saw Nithael staring at him, wide-eyed and shocked. He snapped his gaze on Aziraphale, who slowly blinked his eyes open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More memory travels coming up in later chapters, don't worry. ;)
> 
> Also, here's a related drawing. It's by yours truly, and it was actually what started this whole fic. 
> 
> Bigger version [here](https://www.deviantart.com/berende/art/Black-Death-822090695)


	10. Warded

Both Crowley and Nithael stared at Aziraphale wordlessly, holding unnecessary breaths. Aziraphale stretched his neck slightly and when his eyes found Crowley, his face melted into the fondest expression Crowley remembered seeing. The angel opened his mouth to say something, but Crowley didn’t give him a chance.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I’m s-sorry, for not coming with you, for what I said, for not being there when I… when you… I… ngh…”

“My dear,” Aziraphale whispered, and pulled him in his arms. Crowley buried his face in the angel’s neck, not caring that his glasses were caught in between, forgetting that they weren’t alone. He held on for dear life, breathing him in, that cologne he’d come to love, the scent of old books and sunlight, vanilla and clear skies. In that moment, nothing else existed but him and his angel.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured. “Both of you,” he added when Crowley decided it was best to gather himself, and pulled away. The angel looked at Nithael.

“I’m glad it worked,” Nithael mumbled nervously. He was red around the ears and was avoiding looking at either of them. “I’d only ever read about it, to be honest.”

Crowley wanted Nithael gone, because he wanted, needed, Aziraphale to himself right now; but he also knew Aziraphale was back with him because of Nithael. He couldn’t deny he’d been useful, and as much as he still disliked and doubted him, he couldn’t dismiss everything. He raised a brow and crossed his arms, fixing a gaze on Nithael.

“You might actually be a half-competent angel,” he drawled. “I never thought one could exist.”

Nithael looked like he didn’t know if he should be offended or grateful.

“High praise,” Aziraphale raised his brows and a little smile played on his lips.

“Yeah, well, it’s all he gets,” Crowley scoffed. “Don’t get used to it, Git-hael.”

“I won’t,” Nithael muttered. “How are you feeling, Aziraphale?”

The angel sighed heavily. “Drained. But relieved.” 

“The cut on your cheek…” Nithael looked concerned. Crowley had noticed, too: Angoroth’s mark was still there. Aziraphale touched it gingerly and cast a little miracle. The wound closed slightly, but didn’t disappear.

“Oh, well,” he hummed. “Perhaps it’s no simple miracle that can heal it. I’m sure it’ll be better by tomorrow.” He frowned, then, turning his head as if listening.

“There’s something different…” his eyes widened as he realised. “Wards?”

“Um, yes,” Nithael fidgeted and glanced at Crowley with genuine fear in his eyes. “So that Angoroth can’t get in…”

“You warded my shop?” Aziraphale looked scandalised and glanced at Crowley, who was trying to decide if it was better to throw Nithael under the bus or not. He certainly wanted to, but something told him now might not be the best time to foment discord. He saw how indignant Aziraphale was. This would be good leverage against Nithael later, if necessary.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Crowley scoffed. “I was inside the whole time.”

“But…”

“Angoroth threatened to eat us, Aziraphale,” Nithael blurted out, eyes wide with fear, but momentarily relieved. “And Crowley says she’s coming.”

Aziraphale sought confirmation from Crowley, who shrugged and let out a long, hissing breath.

“Yeeeaaahh, well. She was really pissed off. It’s been a while since she’s had angels for dinner.”

Both angels shuddered at the thought. A silence fell as they were lost in their thoughts and fears for a moment, and Crowley felt the air sizzling with tension.

Well, maybe he was the only tense one. He wanted nothing more than to talk to Aziraphale, because this was not enough, Nithael was there, and he didn’t want him there; he wanted Aziraphale alone because there were so many things he needed to clear up, needed to say.

“Can I talk to you for a minute,” he blurted out quickly. It wasn’t even a question, the words just came out one after another. Aziraphale smiled and nodded.

“Excuse us for a moment, Nithael,” the angel gave him a warm smile and got up slowly. Crowley jumped on his feet and led Aziraphale out of the room.

Aziraphale followed Crowley through the shop and upstairs. He frowned to himself as he ascended the steps to his bedroom; his corporation felt heavier and more sluggish than normal. He had never experienced tiredness of this kind and he suspected Angoroth had had a stronger effect on him than he could’ve imagined. He was very aware of the cut on his cheek - there was a slight burn to it, and he didn’t care for it one bit.

It was still hard to separate memory and fabrication; he was piecing it together moment by moment, however, and things were locking into place. He didn’t have a time frame for anything, but figured it would all make sense eventually. 

But oh, how he weary he was. 

They entered his bedroom and Aziraphale stared at his bed. His usually pristine bedding was crumpled and his favourite blanket was strewn across the bed in a very careless manner.

“I didn’t leave this here, did I?” he walked closer and sat on the bed, touching the warm wool of the blanket. Crowley cleared his throat and avoided his eyes.

“Uh, yes, well, I borrowed it. It’s- it’s warm, s’all.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled. The thought of Crowley wrapped in his blanket, on his bed, was enough to warm him, as well. “You can borrow it anytime.”

Crowley stood in the middle of the room, hovering and looking like he had so much to say that nothing managed to come out.

“Aziraphale, about what I said… when… before…”

_Heaven doesn’t want you._

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale tried his best to hide his sadness. He wasn’t angry at Crowley - he could never stay angry for long - but he was still hurting from the truth. 

“No, angel, I didn’t- it wasn’t-”

“It was the truth, though, wasn’t it?” he tried to maintain a smile; this was a happy moment, he was sure - he’d been rescued from Angoroth, Crowley was there with him, just a moment ago he’d been clinging onto him for dear life… “I was so upset because I couldn’t deny it.”

Crowley stared at him, his eyes like dark holes with the sunglasses.

“I know the other angels don’t want me,” it hurt him to say it aloud, but he kept going. “I think I’ve known for a long time. But I… I never stopped trying to live up to their expectations. But, of course, I couldn’t do what they wanted. I like humanity, I like their little vices and pleasures, and I think Heaven ever wanted me to indulge in them myself.”

“Sod them,” Crowley huffed and knelt in front of him, his mouth a thin, determined line; he ripped off his shades and let Aziraphale gaze into his snake eyes - and oh, how he’d missed them. “You’re the only good one, as far as I know. You’re the one who really cares about the ones they’re supposed to protect.”

“I don’t know what to think about that, coming from a demon,” Aziraphale retorted fondly.

“Yeah, I’m so evil I’m trying to tempt you to be _good_ ,” Crowley snorted. “Beware, heavenly guardian! There’s _eeevil_ at foot.”

Aziraphale chuckled.

“I still think you’re wrong about Nithael, though.”

“You would,” Crowley tutted. “I admit, he’s been useful. But that’s all.” He shifted position and sat on the floor next to Aziraphale’s knees, leaning on the bed, long limbs everywhere.

Aziraphale smiled.

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he said quietly, lowering his eyes on his hands, smoothing the blanket in his lap slowly. “I never wanted you to leave me alone. I don’t know why I said it.”

“S- s’okay,” Crowley shrugged. “I never do what you tell me to, anyway.”

“I know, and I thank you for it. Truly.”

He watched Crowley, the curve of his lips as he held back a smile, the nervous twitch in his fingers, and he loved.

Aziraphale had loved for a long time. He hadn’t realised it for millennia, because he was a being of love, anyway; and centuries upon centuries spent with someone else, developing a friendship with them, loving them more and more… it had been so natural, so gradual, that he hadn’t ever thought that he might feel more towards his friend than platonic, universal love.

He hadn’t had a reference point.

He’d never loved a human or another angel in quite the same way, but then again, he had never had such a lasting relationship with anyone else, either - the angels were all business and the humans were so fleeting.

When the bomb had fallen on the church in 1941 and Crowley had saved his beloved books, it had hit Aziraphale. That moment he had realised it, a dam had broken, and love had flooded his whole being.

But he was content with keeping it to himself. He knew their situation was difficult - had been difficult - it was still difficult, wasn’t it? An angel and a demon, surely it couldn’t be simple, not even now when their affiliations had been shaken. 

Aziraphale was happy if he could just be with Crowley, spend time with him, soak his presence in; he didn’t dare to disturb the peace they had found, because he had seen things like that backfire among humans. Friends would fall in love with friends, and that had destroyed many a friendship. He never wanted to destroy what they had, and so, he said nothing.

He didn’t need to. This was enough. He longed for more, but this was enough. As long as Crowley was by his side, he didn’t need anything else. He didn’t need the demon to love him back the same way. He knew Crowley cared for him, and even if it was just platonic, it was alright. 

Aziraphale watched him and loved him. Something in his smile must have reflected this, because Crowley looked away, fidgeting. He looked nervous and agitated, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite understand it. Crowley seemed to constantly be on the verge of saying something, but didn’t.

They sat in silence and Aziraphale let his love course through him. This was alright. They were together, it was alright. As much as he longed to pull Crowley back into his arms, he resisted; the moment didn’t feel right, it wasn’t the same as after he’d woken up.

“Promise me, angel,” Crowley said quietly, staring at the carpet. “That you never change. Never try to be like them, because you’re so, ssso much.... Much better. If you weren’t you, if you stopped being you… if you decided this stuff down here was not good enough, and fucked off to Heaven, and left me here, I- I don’t think I could...”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale looked at him. Crowley looked back, and he saw such vulnerability in his yellow eyes that it threatened to break him. “I would never. I will never. As long as you’re here, I could _never_.”

Crowley’s hand slowly, carefully, snaked into his, and Aziraphale held on, poured every ounce of his love into the touch. Aziraphale watched their joined hands, his heart swelling with such affection that he wondered how he could ever contain it.

“I promised I wouldn’t let go, didn’t I?”

Crowley’s eyes flitted to his and a smile crossed his face before he turned his gaze away and gave Aziraphale’s hand a tight squeeze.

Then, all of a sudden, he let go and sprung on his feet, pacing the room.

“We really have to sort out this Angoroth thing,” he said, placing his sunglasses firmly on his nose again.

Aziraphale sighed. “I rather think so, too. Nithael is waiting.”

Crowley’s _blergh_ was almost comical. Aziraphale stood up and moved towards the door, but after a few steps his legs gave up on him. He fell on one knee, catching himself before an undignified tumble.

Crowley was hovering by his side in an instant.

“What’s wrong? What is it? Are you hurt?” he took Aziraphale’s arm and helped him up.

“It’s alright,” he said, brushing his trousers and straightening his jacket. Crowley looked like he didn’t believe him at all. “I’m just… a bit tired.”

“You’re never tired.”

“I’ve never had a demon in my head, either.”

Crowley stared at him, sucking his teeth, and still held on to his arm.

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale had to insist; he wasn’t too sure about it, himself, but for now, he would go with that. 

“Angel…”

“Please,” he breathed. “Let’s just go downstairs? I’ll be fine.”

Crowley said nothing, but followed him at a close enough distance to catch him if he so much as stubbed a toe.

Nithael was sitting on the sofa, but jumped up the minute they arrived. He looked at them wide-eyed, as if he was expecting them to bear news about something serious.

Crowley threw himself on the sofa, taking up all of the space and preventing Nithael from sitting back down. The angel sat down in Aziraphale’s armchair, and the moment he’d seated himself, Crowley moved his legs and made room on the sofa. Aziraphale sat down next to him and was quite proud of how he managed not to roll his eyes at this childish behaviour.

“So,” he sighed, glad to be seated once more - his corporation really wasn’t up for anything today. “Any ideas on how to handle Angoroth?”

“I promised to meet her at the castle in… some amount of days,” Crowley hummed, arms resting on the back of the sofa, one of them casually behind Aziraphale. “She’ll be pissed if I don’t show.”

“You’re not going, obviously,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Whaddaya mean I’m not? She’s not trying to eat _me_.”

“You can’t go past the wards, for one,” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes at him. He would not let Crowley walk into danger for no reason.

“Ooh, a low blow,” Crowley hissed.

“What good would it do for you to meet her?”

“I could tell her you’ve escaped somewhere.”

“And then what? She’ll find us, eventually. We can’t stay in the shop forever.”

“Nithael could buzz off back to Heaven,” Crowley suggested. “She can’t go there.”

“I won’t abandon a fellow Principality in his hour of need,” Nithael retorted nobly. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale smiled, quite touched by his resolve. “We beat her in my mind. I wonder if we could do the same to her physical form?”

“Oh, um,” Nithael suddenly looked unsure. “In your mind… well, we couldn’t really perish, there. Even if we’d lost, or gotten hurt… we would’ve been fine. But here, in reality? I…”

“You’re scared,” Crowley grinned.

“And you have every right to be,” Aziraphale said, glancing at Crowley who made a face. “But two angels against one demon…”

“You don’t have a weapon,” Crowley kindly reminded him. “Unless you’re happy with a butter knife from the kitchen…?”

“Yes, thank you for your input, dear.”

“Maybe…” Nithael bit his lip and eyed them warily. “Maybe I could help with that.”

“What, you have a collection of flaming swords?” Crowley snided.

“No,” Nithael tutted. “But I know where Aziraphale’s sword is.”

Silence washed over them. Aziraphale stared at him and didn’t even notice Crowley had stopped his incessant fidgeting. If Nithael was suggesting what he thought he was suggesting…

“You cannot steal from Heaven,” Aziraphale breathed quietly. 

“Borrow,” Nithael hastened to say. “Borrow from Heaven.”

“But if you get caught -”

“I’d be careful,” Nithael swallowed. “They wouldn’t even notice it was gone. They don’t have much use for it, now, anyway.”

Aziraphale didn’t know what to think. If he had his sword back, well… they might have a fighting chance. He might not have been the toughest of angels, but he knew how to wield his sword. At the threshold of Armageddon, the weapon had fit in his hand like it had never left it. He wouldn’t have enjoyed using it, but he knew he _could_.

But to have Nithael risk everything for it? This was not his fight. He was only in this mess because of Aziraphale, and if Heaven knew Nithael was stealing the sword to help him…

“I can’t let you do it,” he sighed.

“I can,” Crowley raised a hand. “I think it’s a great idea. The best you’ve had.”

“Oh,” Nithael sounded immediately wary.

“It’s _not_ a great idea,” Aziraphale huffed. “It’s a dangerous idea. If they found out, they could… You would risk your position, your reputation… your very existence.”

Nithael was silent for a moment, watching his hands which were calmly clasped in his lap.

“It would be used to slay a powerful demon,” he said, then. “Surely that would be forgiven.”

Crowley barked with bitter laughter. Nithael actually glared at him, but didn’t say a thing.

“Let me do it, Aziraphale,” the angel said. “We’ll fight her together, and rid the world of her evil.”

The silence that followed rang in Aziraphale’s ears. He was so very conflicted. Nithael watched him with such nervous resolve that it stunned him.

“If it’s truly what you want,” Aziraphale replied, feeling both thankful and terrified, “then I can’t stop you.”

Nithael smiled and stood up. Aziraphale followed suit and walked Nithael to the front door; but before either reached to open it, they halted. Aziraphale shut his eyes with a frown. He suddenly felt worse, as if something was trying to pry access into his consciousness again. Nithael’s eyes widened, and then Crowley brushed past them, peeking out through the window.

“Ahh,” he drawled, “it didn’t take her long.”

Aziraphale steeled himself and looked outside as well. And there, across the street, stood a skeletally thin woman, with matted hair and nondescript clothing, eyes like red coals, staring motionlessly at the shop.

“She- she found us already?” Nithael gulped, wringing his scarf again.

“Let’s retreat a bit, shall we?” Crowley ushered Aziraphale to the backroom, and he let himself be seated back down. He sighed wearily and rubbed his temples. Crowley sat down next to him, closer than necessary. Nithael hurried in after them.

“What do we do?” Nithael fretted. “Should we… could we run for it…?”

“She’ll smell you the minute you leave the wards,” Crowley scoffed. “She already tracked you here. You think you stand any chance if you just walk out?”

“We can’t run from this, Nithael, dear,” Aziraphale gave him a quick, strained smile. “She’ll be on our tail, wherever we go. Unless it’s in Heaven… but that’s really not an option for me. And I wouldn’t go there even if I could.”

He felt Crowley’s fingers brush his back lightly and purposefully, and hoped he knew he’d meant it.

“If you still want to find the sword,” Aziraphale said to Nithael, his heart heavy, “I do have materials to open a pathway, here.”

Crowley made a disgruntled sound, but Nithael nodded gravely. The angels got up, Aziraphale quite carefully; Crowley sprung up by his side, ready to follow, but Aziraphale pressed a hand on his shoulder. Crowley plopped back on the sofa, probably more out of surprise than obedience.

“You should wait here,” he said. “This will be a very… divine matter, you see. Lots of holy light, it might be quite uncomfortable for you.”

“Hngh,” was all Crowley said, but remained put as Aziraphale led Nithael to the shop.

Soon, the angels were standing by the circle drawn on the floor, Nithael placing candles around it.

“Do be careful with those,” Aziraphale warned. “The last time I did this, well… didn’t go as planned.”

When everything was ready, Aziraphale fixed a serious look on Nithael.

“Take your time to prepare,” he said. “I will set the candles again when you’ve left, so that you can find your way back here. I should probably wait in another room while you open the way, just in case someone is watching. And… do be very, very careful.”

“I will,” Nithael said warmly. “We will sort this out, Aziraphale.”

“Thank you,” he whispered and left as Nithael turned to say his prayers.

Crowley was pacing the backroom as Aziraphale returned. 

“He’s about to begin,” he sat down with a weary sigh. There was a heaviness to his whole being which had only intensified the moment he’d seen Angoroth again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Crowley asked, stopping his pacing for a moment.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied; truth be told, he didn’t know if he was alright at all. He didn’t feel alright, but he wasn’t sure how he was expected to feel after banishing a demon’s curse from his head. Maybe this was normal. The wound on his cheek ached.

He turned his head slightly as he saw pale light shining from the shop. Crowley hissed, and resumed his pacing. He looked antsy and uncomfortable, his lips twisted into a snarl he probably didn’t even notice.

“Are _you_ alright?” Aziraphale had to ask, though he could guess the answer.

“It’s just these wards and that _ssstupid_ light,” he jerked his head towards the door. “S’not fun, angel.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said. “It’ll ease up once Nithael ports himself away. The light will fade.”

“Eurgh.”

Crowley paced, bristling. Aziraphale leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. He felt a constant tug at his consciousness, a darkness trying to pry its way in. The wards were Nithael’s, but he could feel Angoroth seeking a weakness in them, a way in.

The light in the shop faded. Aziraphale got up and went to prepare the scene for Nithael’s return. Crowley ceased his pacing, but remained antsy. When Aziraphale returned, he sat down on the coffee table next to him, ignoring Aziraphale’s disapproving look.

“We gotta do something,” Crowley muttered. “Got to prepare. I mean, what are you going to do if Nithael comes back with your sword? Run outside and have a celestial battle in the middle of Soho?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. He hadn’t thought that far, really, but Crowley had a point. They couldn’t just attack Angoroth in the middle of a busy street - it would be such a mess, and to think about the casualties…

“What if,” Crowley said, and his voice was low enough to tip Aziraphale off that he was going to suggest something he wouldn’t like. “What if you remove the wards, sneak away, and I distract her?”

“And then what? She’ll see through your plan. It won’t end well… not for you, either.”

Crowley huffed and looked away. “Okay, how about this: we pretend you’ve captured me here. We open the door, you stand menacingly behind me, I spin a story on how you cunningly trapped me with your wards.”

“To what end?” Aziraphale sighed. “I don’t think we can use you for ransom. She doesn’t seem like she would care. What would be the point of that plan?” He was too tired, he couldn’t think straight.

“I don’t know!” Crowley snarled. “I’m just throwing ideas around because nobody else seems to have a decent plan!”

“You said we can’t run from her,” Aziraphale mumbled. He had a hard time keeping his eyes open, so he closed them. It was such a relief. “But maybe if we do run away... wait for her to follow… and…”

“You’ll have to remove these wards, otherwise I can’t come.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t come,” Aziraphale hummed. His mind was a haze. Was this really what tiredness felt like? How did humans cope? “Maybe it would be best if you stayed here… safe…”

Oh, how he wanted to just… not think for a while. The sofa was very soft, and suddenly lying down seemed like the most tempting thing. He could vaguely hear an indignant noise from Crowley, but could barely register it. He felt warm, his eyes were heavy, his ears were buzzing.

“Angel?” he heard Crowley’s soft voice, and somehow it seemed to come from very far away. Maybe he wasn’t there at all, maybe it was all his imagination. Before he knew it, he was lying down, there was a pillow under his head, and a voice somewhere told him to rest.

What a lovely idea that was.


	11. The Sword

Crowley stared at his angel sleeping on the sofa. It didn’t look right. He’d never seen Aziraphale sleep, and this was a bit too close to the state he had been in only a short while ago.

He looked peaceful, lips slightly parted, lashes casting frail shadows on his cheeks in the low light. 

Crowley was glad to notice signs of life; a subtle change in expression every now and again, a twitch in the fingers. This looked like actual sleep and not the lifeless coma from before.

But it was still worrying. How badly had Angoroth damaged his mind to have this effect? Would it pass? Would Aziraphale just have to sleep it off, or was there something more to it?

Crowley swallowed. The angel looked… beautiful. He always did, but there was something oddly innocent about the moment. Something so vulnerable.  _ His angel. _

He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but there were only so many millennia he could suppress it. Crowley was a very good liar - so good, in fact, that he’d managed to repeatedly lie to himself since the beginning.

He’d come up with excuses and explanations: that what he felt for Aziraphale was nothing but lust, which was a very proper, demonic thing - tempting an angel, a suitably wicked thing to do; or that the reason he constantly sought him out was to keep track of him and thwart him when necessary. Everything he did for the angel was because he needed to fool him into thinking he wasn’t evil to the core, and then  _ bam! _ He’d strike at an opportune moment and win one for Hell.

Except there was never going to be that moment. Hurting Aziraphale was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t trying to fool him, and he didn’t want to thwart him. With the tsunami of those inconvenient feelings he’d experienced in the past couple of days, it was becoming impossible to hide from the truth.

He’d known for a few millennia, really. But he’d kept making up excuses. He’d spun lies, convinced himself.

Earlier, in Aziraphale’s bedroom, he had wanted to say so many things. His very essence had screamed at him to tell the angel what he meant to him, how life was worth nothing without him, how he was the only thing that mattered, in the end.

He hadn’t. He’d wanted to, he had tried to, but the words had stuck in his throat. Crowley could never describe it all in words and it stung.

He brushed his fingers lightly through Aziraphale’s hair and his heart jumped when the angel’s lips curved in the slightest of smiles.

_ My angel, mine. Mine… _

The cut on the angel’s cheek made him sick.

Crowley drew his hand back and balled his fists. Aziraphale was not alright, and he was trying to leave him behind to protect him from Angoroth. Which was ridiculous, because Angoroth didn’t have any reason to think that Crowley was working against her.

Unless she’d been to Hell recently, in which case she probably wasn’t very fond of him at all.

But really, what were the odds of that?

He had to get answers.

Crowley stood at the front door and peered out. Angoroth was still there, still in the same place, staring. Passers-by gave her a wide berth.

With a little miracle the door swung open. Crowley motioned for Angoroth to come closer and the demon crossed the street without a care of any traffic; no vehicle dodged or slowed down, but she walked across without any hindrance, until she was standing right in front of Crowley.

“Hiya,” Crowley said in a hushed voice. “I got caught up, the angels kind of trapped me.”

“Wards,” Angoroth hummed, her eyes darting up and down the shop. 

“Yeah, nasty business,” Crowley grimaced. “They’re seriously stunting my miracles, as well.”

“Where are they?”

“In the other room,” he replied, pretending to be wary of making too much noise. “They’re planning something, so I managed to sneak here.”

“What do they plan? Why do they keep you?”

“They think we’re friends, so they think they can blackmail you.”

Angoroth actually snorted. “Angels… fools.”

“I told them it wouldn’t work,” Crowley shrugged. “Anyway, they’re going to try and smite you. Obviously.”

“They’re welcome to try,” Angoroth grinned; it was a creepy sight even in her human disguise. “One of them is afraid, and the other is weakened. And I feel… invigorated.”

Crowley didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“Nice work on the other angel,” he commended, forcing a smile on his face. “He was out of it for a while.”

“I could feel the barrier break,” Angoroth grunted. “How did they do it?”

“I dunno, some angel stuff. I wasn’t there to see.”

“No matter,” Angoroth purred and licked her shrivelled lips. “There’s still a vestige of my power left in him. I can feel it. It will drain him.”

_ Fuck _ .

“Oh, nice,” Crowley hummed. “That’ll give you an edge.”

He glanced behind, pretending to hear a noise, and spoke to Angoroth hastily:

“Listen, they’re gonna make a break for it eventually, and if they take me with them, I’d much appreciate not being caught in the crossfire. I’ll give you all the credit if I live to tell the tale.”

“If I need to choose between you or destroying them,” Angoroth drawled. “I won’t choose you.”

“Well, obviously. But maybe don’t actively try to kill me?”

Angoroth shrugged.

“Thanks,” Crowley winked, though she couldn’t see it. “I hear them coming, got to run!” And he miracled the door shut, slinking into the backroom as quickly as he could. 

He knelt by Aziraphale at once, studying his face carefully. There was now a crease between his brows and his fingers were clutching the pillow in a hard grip. The wound on his cheek still persisted.

Angoroth had said there was a vestige of her power left in him. That it would drain him. But how? Hadn’t they driven her shadow out of him? She had seemed to believe Crowley’s little story, and that might give him an edge against her in the future, but… if she was constantly draining Aziraphale, the angel stood no chance.

“S’alright,” he murmured, smoothing Aziraphale’s brow with the back of his hand. “It’ll be alright.” The angel clenched his jaw in his sleep and Crowley wondered if this was the first time he had dreamed - and whether he was now having nightmares. 

“What did that bitch do to you?” Crowley hissed to himself, letting his hand rest on the angel’s shoulder. It felt so right and so wrong to touch him that he didn’t know what to do with himself.

So he plopped himself down in a chair and guarded his angel’s sleep.

Some time later, when Crowley had begun pacing the room once more (no sign of Nithael, no sound from Angoroth), Aziraphale jolted awake with a gasp. He sat up, looking terrified and lost, and Crowley was by his side in a flash.

“What is it?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but no sound escaped him. His eyes found Crowley and he fixed them on him. 

“Angel?”

“I…” Aziraphale frowned, gripping the sofa as if to ground himself, panicked eyes darting around and his breath shallow. “Was I…did you…?”

“Calm down,” Crowley advised, moving to sit beside him. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

He removed his sunglasses because for some unfathomable reason, Aziraphale seemed to like it when he did. It worked like a charm and the angel’s clear eyes met his at once.

“I… well, I was in… Hell.”

Crowley stared. “Literal Hell, or…?”

“I was in Hell, where I was when we did our switch,” Aziraphale explained in a stained voice. “And it was… I was… they said that’s where I belonged, and I tried to escape but they pulled me back, and you…” He gulped and the look he gave Crowley drove him mad; such relief, anguish, and caring should be outlawed, he thought. “It can’t have been real,” the angel whispered. “They hurt you, but…”

Crowley had never been so still in his life as he was now when Aziraphale raised his hand and brushed his cheek with the lightest of touches.

“You’re not hurt,” he breathed, eyes flitting all over his features. “... are you?”

“No, angel,” Crowley said softly and took his hand in his own. “You’ve just had what the humans call a nightmare.”

Aziraphale’s eyes grew wide. “I have?”

“Well, something equivalent, anyway,” he shrugged casually and held the angel’s hand gently. He thought he should let go, but couldn’t bring himself to it. Aziraphale hadn’t even seemed to notice the touch, and the longer he could hold on, the better, because he didn’t want anything else so badly right now. It was pathetic. “I can assure you, you’ve been here the whole time, and nobody’s tried to hurt me.”

“Oh.” 

“Point is, it wasn’t real,” Crowley said. “Anyway. Are you feeling any better after your nap?”

“I do  _ not  _ nap,” Aziraphale huffed. “But I suppose… yes. My mind is a bit clearer. I just don’t want to make this a habit. I still don’t quite feel like myself.”

_ Twice-damned Angoroth _ , Crowley thought. He was still holding Aziraphale’s hand. He felt like he was doing something wrong and getting away with it.

“Any news of Nithael?” the angel asked.

“No.”

“Angoroth?”

“Still out there.”

“Hmm.”

They sat there in silence, hands locked together as if forgotten. Crowley was desperately trying to think of a way to fix everything. How had Angoroth managed to leave a piece of her power in Aziraphale? How could they get it out? What would happen if they didn’t? Did they need to kill her for that? Crowley didn’t think that was a bad option at all, but how would they do that if Aziraphale was barely strong enough to stand?

Bright light from the shop alerted them both and Aziraphale was on his feet at once. He hurried towards the light and Crowley hung back a bit until the divine glow had faded. It felt like needles pricking his skin all over, and it hurt his eyes.

When he sauntered to the shop, Nithael was standing there.

“Aziraphale,” the angel smiled. “I… I did it.”

He pulled a sword out of thin air. No flame was to be seen, but Crowley saw the way Aziraphale looked at it - it was definitely the right one. Nithael handed the weapon to him like some squire of old, and Aziraphale took it almost gingerly.

“You actually did it,” Crowley crossed his arms and regarded Nithael with a tilted head. There was a good dose of suspicion in his voice; how could they be sure that he hadn’t told Heaven everything?

“It wasn’t that hard,” Nithael said modestly, but Crowley could tell from his voice that it hadn’t been a simple task. “Though, I will have to return it. They’ll notice eventually.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale nodded, holding the sword like it was made out of glass.

“Right,” Crowley clapped his hands together. “Angoroth is outside. What’s the plan?”

He would’ve revelled in the guilty and ashamed looks the angels exchanged, had the situation not been so dire.

“No plan, then,” Crowley nodded. He fixed his eyes on Nithael. “Well, I have a suggestion: you take down the wards, we run somewhere with less people, wait for Angoroth to follow, and…” he spread his arms as if that explained all. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice had that certain tone which never meant well, and Crowley knew exactly what he was going to say. Which is why he had a reply ready.

“I’m not staying behind,” he blurted out before the angel continued. “Angoroth thinks I’m on her side, so we can play that to our advantage. You’re not  _ protecting me _ by leaving me behind, it’s actually more painful within the wards than anywhere near her.”

Aziraphale looked taken aback and guilty at this, and Crowley wanted to soothe him by admitting that the wards weren’t actually hurting him, but he stayed silent. He didn’t want to be left behind.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” the angel said, and the genuine concern behind the words ached in Crowley’s chest. “Of course I won’t leave you.”

Aziraphale suddenly looked determined and turned his head towards the door. 

“I suppose we should say hi,” he murmured, gripping his sword and approaching the door.

“W-what are you doing?” Crowley followed him and blocked his way. “You can’t just…”

“I’m only going to talk with her,” Aziraphale assured him. “I won’t cross the ward, I promise.”

And with a curt little smile, he pushed past Crowley and opened the door.

Crowley half expected Angoroth to be still standing on the doorstep, but she’d retreated back to the opposing side of the road. The moment she saw them, however, she moved across the street and stood by the shop’s steps, staring intently at Aziraphale.

“Hullo,” Aziraphale greeted. He tried to sound chipper, but Crowley could sense the incredible weight on his presence. “I suppose you want a word with us.”

“No,” she croaked, eyes radiating malice. “I don’t want words. I want to destroy you, but you’re hiding behind these wards… despicable.” Her eyes darted to Crowley, who tried to motion how horrible it was to be stuck there with angels.

“We will not come out and fight you,” Aziraphale said sternly, “when there are so many people around. I do not want any humans dead because of us.”

“Ah, how kind,” Angoroth purred. “Afraid of collateral damage. Very well. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

And she walked back through the traffic, back to the spot where she’d been standing. People gave her space, nobody went near, and Crowley subtly miracled the door closed when the angels wouldn’t.

“You’re- you- you’re literally going to fight her on the street?” Crowley waved an indignant hand at the door. Aziraphale pursed his lips.

“I don’t see us having other options.”

“We should keep the wards,” Nithael said to Aziraphale, glancing quickly at Crowley.

Before Crowley had time to rip Nithael to pieces, Aziraphale replied: 

“No. The wards go down when we go out.”

“Why did she ask us to meet her later?” Nithael bit his lip nervously.

“Look outside and you’ll see,” Crowley jerked his head towards the door. Both angels peered outside.

“The crowds are… dispersing?” Aziraphale hummed.

“In a few hours, the streets will be empty,” Crowley sucked his teeth. “Suddenly, everyone just needs to be elsewhere.”

“She’s very strong,” Aziraphale mused, and Crowley could see his shoulders slumping. “I think I’ll sit down for a moment. To gather my strength.”

Crowley and Nithael followed him to the backroom where Aziraphale sat down on the sofa, placing his sword on the table. Crowley sat down next to him and had a bad feeling about the upcoming fight. Aziraphale was in no condition to fight anyone, Nithael wasn’t strong enough to face Angoroth on his own, and Crowley didn’t have means to beat her by himself.

“We should make holy water,” Nithael suggested nervously. The hairs at the back of Crowley’s neck bristled; it would take a few more millennia to erase Ligur’s melting from his mind. Even Aziraphale shuddered.

“A good idea, in theory,” the angel agreed. “But it’s a bit too late for that, I’m afraid. We don’t have any natural water here, for one… And besides, I would rather not have any of it spill on the wrong demon.”

Crowley inclined his head in acknowledgement. Nithael looked put off.

“Shame,” he muttered. “I should’ve done it sooner… or gotten some from Heaven.”

“I think you’ve done enough with acquiring the sword,” Aziraphale smiled. “I’m sure we’ll manage.”

It was the least certain Crowley had ever heard him sound.

The hours crawled away. Aziraphale had closed his eyes and Nithael sat in silence. Crowley fidgeted and paced, never straying too far from his angel. He didn’t want Aziraphale to battle Angoroth - nothing about the idea sounded good. Unfortunately, other options didn’t seem too great, either.

Darkness lingered outside. Crowley went to the door and peered out; the streets were eerily empty, except for Angoroth, who was still standing in the same spot. He hissed in distaste. Time was up.

The angels must have come to the same conclusion, because they came to him. Aziraphale looked at Crowley with pained eyes.

“Crowley,” he said softly. “If she thinks you’re on her side… play along. Keep yourself safe, pretend for as long as you possibly can. As long as you can keep yourself out of harm’s way…”

“Don’t worry,” he replied, jaw clenched. “Just mind yourself.”

Aziraphale seemed to be fighting back his emotions; Crowley could see it in his eyes. The angel had never been good at concealing his feelings.

“Crowley… if something should go wrong… if something were to happen to me, I just need you to know that-”

“Shut up, angel,” Crowley said, unable to keep fear out of his voice. “Y- you’ll be fine. And whatever you need me to know, you’ll tell me afterwards. Yeah?”

Aziraphale smiled at him with fearful eyes, but nodded. Crowley nodded back and his heart had seldom ached so much - and when in the past it had ached, it had also been for Aziraphale.

He nodded to Nithael, who sighed heavily, and removed the ward from the front door.

Aziraphale opened the door and stood there for a brief moment before carefully walking down the steps, sword in hand. Nithael followed and Crowley slinked out after them. He saw Angoroth’s smile widening and her eyes blazing as the angels stepped onto the pavement.

“Pretend you’re preventing me from running,” Crowley hissed to Nithael, who blinked at him in confusion, but then gingerly grabbed his arm.

“Ah, angels,” Angoroth drawled, and her human disguise melted away. She stood there in her skeletal glory, smiling. “How nice of you to come.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to call it a draw and go home?” Aziraphale attempted. The demon laughed.

“No.”

“We have your friend!” Nithael spoke up, then, shaking Crowley’s arm. “We’ll trade him for-”

“Demons don’t have friends,” Angoroth licked her lips, meeting Crowley’s eyes. “You’ve got nothing to bargain with, cowards. You can’t fight holding him, and he will turn on you the moment he can.”

Crowley could only shrug half-heartedly. 

“You are mine,” Angoroth growled at Aziraphale, crouching down, ready to pounce. “I will drag you back and I will tear off your wings, peel off your skin, make you watch as I savour your corporeal form, until I can suck out your soul and devour it whole.”

If Aziraphale was afraid, he didn’t show it. He straightened himself, held his sword tight, and it burst into flame. As Crowley watched his angel, his resolute form, the divine strength radiating from his core, he could only feel such pride and awe for his angel that it filled his very essence. This was his angel, his precious, soft, compassionate angel, his divine, strong, and fearsome soldier. 

“I would pray for your forgiveness, but you are too far gone,” Aziraphale said and his voice rang cold and clear in Crowley’s ears. And yet, some of the compassion was still there. His angel would not smite mindlessly, not without mercy, not without a smidgeon of love even for this wretched demon.

Crowley loved him so much that he wanted to scream it from mountain tops, shower it down as soft rain on all of existence, cover Aziraphale with his dark, demonic wings, and make him believe it.

“Serpent!” Angoroth screamed. “Dispose of the other and be drowned in Hell’s glory.”

Before anyone had time to register what she had said, she pounced. She flew towards Aziraphale, dripping with shadows and venom, her eyes burning with hellfire. Aziraphale ran to meet her, sword held with both hands. They clashed, a terrifying mix of fire and shadows, light and darkness.

“Right,” Crowley managed to croak, eyes on the battle and heart in his throat. “Right, I guess we should pretend to do the same.”

He turned to Nithael, who was brandishing his flaming sword. The angel watched him with doubt and uncertainty in his eyes.

“You can’t be serious,” Crowley groaned. “Listen, don’t be an arse. The sooner you pretend to attack me and I pretend to be bested, the better. We can then do something about  _ that _ .” He pointed at the celestial battle raging in the middle of Soho.

“We could rid the world of two demons today,” Nithael said, jaw clenched, sword still ominously aimed at Crowley, who was starting to think that perhaps disposing of Nithael wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

“You absolute wanker,” Crowley hissed. He kept stealing glances at the fight and was horrified to notice Angoroth had unfurled her wings - they were ragged, dark, and unkempt things, but still managed to lift her off the ground as she sought leverage from above. Aziraphale would not be bested and spread his own, perfectly white wings and rose to meet her in the air. His angel, his kind angel, looked fearsome - head held high, sword ready, glowing with holy power.

“See what’s happening now?” Crowley exclaimed at Nithael who was also watching the scene unfold. “Aziraphale is not  _ well _ , you idiot. He can’t win this. And if you really want to fight me, I won’t go down easy. I will bite you, I will poison you, and I will break your bones and  _ ssstrangle  _ every last breath from your corporation. If you have any semblance of  _ love  _ left in you for Aziraphale, if you’re any better than the rest of your lot, you will swing your sword a few times, I pretend to get hurt, and you rush to Aziraphale’s aid in under a minute. Got it?”

Nithael looked conflicted and Crowley could only stare at him and hope he wasn’t the biggest fool of them all. Aziraphale cried out and they both looked up at him in alarm; Angoroth had clearly got a hit in. Nithael looked back to Crowley and nodded. He placed himself in Angoroth’s field of view, obscuring Crowley, and swung his sword between them.

Crowley screamed in mock-agony and fell on the pavement. “No, I have been injured! Cursed be Heaven and its bastards!” 

Angoroth noticed, but was too busy fighting to see Crowley’s bad acting for what it was. Nithael summoned his wings and was ready to join the aerial battle, but Angoroth snarled at him. She swooped downwards, and in a flurry of shadows, demonic chains manifested around Nithael and trapped him.

Nithael cried in rage and pain as the chains bound him to the ground. Crowley cursed under his breath and ran to him, trying to get the chains off, all the while making it look like he was trying to harm the angel.

Angoroth flew back up and attacked Aziraphale with renewed vigor. He dodged and swung his sword, and Crowley was thrilled to see the hit found its mark. Angoroth screamed as the tip of her wing was neatly cut off and as she writhed, Aziraphale struck his sword right through her abdomen. She fell to the ground, gurgling and screaming, and Aziraphale watched her fall from his vantage point.

Crowley felt a momentary surge of elation and hope as he watched her crash, but realised he’d rejoiced too soon. She was not dead; she crouched on the pavement and raised her hand. With a desperate, dragging motion, she cast a dark miracle. The wound on Aziraphale’s cheek reopened fully and he cried in agony as her power violently pulled him down on the ground with her.

Aziraphale did not land gracefully and couldn’t stand up once he’d fallen. Angoroth was on him in an instant, physically pressing him onto the concrete. His sword fell from his hand and Crowley could only watch in horror as they wrestled in a mess of feathers and shadows. They were too far away, Crowley suddenly realised, and glanced at Nithael’s face, hands stilling on the demonic chains.

He grimaced at the angel just as Nithael grunted “ _ Go!” _ between his teeth, and Crowley was already running.

As he drew nearer (too slowly, all too slowly), he saw Angoroth sinking her horrid teeth into Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel screamed in agony and managed to push the demon further, but she was relentless. She crouched on him, and he was too weak to throw her off. Crowley saw her grin and raise her clawed hands in preparation.

“Oi!” Crowley called to her, and she made the mistake of looking. Crowley saw Aziraphale’s sword on the ground; it wasn’t flaming anymore so he picked it up. With a few strides, he was by their side and struck the sword through her chest.

Angoroth hissed and gurgled with pain and betrayal as Crowley kicked her off of Aziraphale. He raised the sword again, but she was clearly dying. And yet, she laughed that horrible, winded, hacking laugh of hers, eyes fixed on Aziraphale.

“Fools,” she wheezed. “You… can kill me but… but I… I made sure you are soon to follow.” Her eyes still on Aziraphale, she dissolved into shadow and brimstone, burned from the inside out, and just like that, she was gone. But the fumes of her demise swirled in the air and wrapped around Aziraphale, finding entry in his wounds.

Crowley dropped the sword as if it burned, and knelt by Aziraphale’s side.

“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly, a steadying hand on the angel’s arm, the other hovering over the nasty-looking wound on his shoulder. Aziraphale tucked his wings away and sat up. Nithael, now freed from his bonds, ran over to them.

“I…” Aziraphale began. “I feel…” But he couldn’t finish. Pain convulsed his body and he gripped Crowley as if his life depended on it. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called when the angel wouldn’t get up, wouldn’t open his eyes. He placed a hand on his cheek, forcing his face upwards, and as the angel opened his eyes, the clear blue of them was dimmed. Flashes of red were trying to break through.

“I… I’m sorry,” Aziraphale gasped. “I think… I think I now know what happens if a demon possesses an angel.” His eyes fluttered closed and he wouldn’t open them again.

“Come on,” Nithael said hurriedly, collecting the sword and taking hold of Aziraphale’s legs, motioning for Crowley to hold his arms. “We need to get him to the shop, quickly.”

Crowley obeyed blindly and they carried his angel inside, laid him on the sofa, and watched him convulse in pain.

“What’s going on?” Crowley asked, though he had a pretty good idea already.

“Angoroth… she poured her essence into him as she died,” Nithael shuddered. “I’ve only ever read it happening once… and then with a human. A human will be possessed, but an angel?”

He swallowed as he watched Aziraphale’s agonised form.

“She’s dying, and she’s taking him with her,” he gasped. “She’s destroying him from within.”

“What do we do?” Crowley asked. He refused to let it end like this. There had to be a way to save him. Of course there was, there was always some way.

“We need to chase her out again,” Nithael replied; his voice was shaking and he looked everything but sure. “Enter his mind. But this time… This time it’s not enough to give Aziraphale the strength to find his way out of his own mind. This time, Angoroth is actually there, and we need to fight her. Or… he needs to. I think? I’m not sure how it works. As far as I know, it’s never been done...”

“What are we waiting for?” Crowley hissed, unable to tear his eyes off of Aziraphale; his kind face was distorted with a frown, his body convulsing as a demon’s power was trying to burn him up from within. His wounds bled, marring his light coat with darkness.

Nithael said nothing, but dashed to arrange the candles again. He was done quickly, as they were pretty much in the right place already. Once more they sat beside Aziraphale, holding his hands.

“There will be memories,” Nithael swallowed. “If you’re in them, play along until you spot Angoroth - I’m sure she’ll be there, lurking in some form or another. If you’re not in the memory, keep your eyes peeled and we’ll interfere when necessary. We need to coax her out, I suppose, and defeat her, once and for all.”

“I don’t like you being in his head,” Crowley spat. It wasn’t an argument, it was just the truth, and Nithael took it as such.

“I hope he’ll forgive us,” the angel sighed. “It’s our only option. Close your eyes.”

And once more, reality swirled and distorted around Crowley. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on Aziraphale and only Aziraphale, his soothing presence, and he clung to the image. If this didn’t work, if they didn’t make it in time…

Well, then it wouldn’t be only Aziraphale and Angoroth’s existences that ended that day.


	12. Mind Battles, part I

Crowley opened his eyes to a darkened world. The sun had gone down and he was looking at a rocky hilltop. 

Wooden crosses being taken down.

Soldiers with torches.

Golgotha.

He remembered the scene vividly. He’d stayed with Aziraphale to the end, watched Mary’s son suffer and die on the cross. He’d acutely felt the angel’s heartache at the man’s fate, and they hadn’t spoken a word.

After, they’d taken a walk in Gethsemane - Crowley had suggested it; he’d noticed how badly Aziraphale had wanted to talk, to find any sense in the cruelty of humans, or indeed the Almighty’s plan in general. 

“Human memories are never described as being this vivid,” Nithael murmured on Crowley’s left. “Aziraphale’s are so… so real.”

Crowley ignored him.

“Want to take a walk?” he asked Aziraphale, instead, as he’d done a few millennia ago. The angel looked at him quizzically.

“Why?”

“Why? Because you need one,” Crowley countered. “Come on. We’ll talk.”

And as all those centuries ago, Aziraphale followed when Crowley led.

Gethsemane was empty in the darkness. It was a soothing kind of place, Crowley had always rather liked it. 

“I heard his pleas,” Aziraphale said quietly as they walked slowly amidst the trees, Nithael trailing behind. “I heard him being so afraid. Calling to God, being so… human.”

“Wasn’t he?” Crowley asked. “Human, I mean.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale sighed. “Of course. But I watched him, you know. From the start. I knew he was important, what with Gabriel himself coming down to appear to Mary…”

“A bit pompous, if you ask me. And a bit strange to tell them their son was the son of God.”

Aziraphale smiled faintly. “Well, it’s a part of the ineffable plan.”

“What isn’t,” Crowley muttered. It felt strange, hearing Aziraphale say these things after all they’d done. But of course in this memory, they hadn’t even dreamed of the Arrangement yet, let alone defying Heaven and Hell.

Aziraphale hummed in thought. “They gave this man such power and such compassion… anyone would believe to be the son of a god, after that.”

“Which was the point, I rather think,” Crowley huffed.

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied. “One must wonder what is to come, with such attention being directed towards one man.”

“Haven’t they told you?” Crowley asked, just as he had asked back then, and just as then, the angel was flustered.

“It’s not my place to know.”

“You’ve been here from the start, doing all that good,” Crowley drawled. “And you don’t know?” The words left his mouth with ease and he didn’t even have to think much. The memory was on rails and he found that it took more effort to stray from it than stay on it.

“This was mostly Gabriel’s job. I do as I’m told,” Aziraphale went on, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as Crowley.

“All a part of the big plan,” Crowley said rather sarcastically, and if Aziraphale noticed, he let it slide.

“Precisely.”

“Did they tell you to stay with him until the end?”

“... no.”

“I’m not surprised you did, anyway,” Crowley noted, as softly as all those years ago. “I’m sure it offered him some consolation.”

“Do you think so?” Aziraphale looked at him with those hopeful, worried eyes Crowley had sought out since Eden. Then the eyes faltered and he looked away. “I’m not sure it’s a good thing. I think they meant for him to…  _ suffer.” _ The clear distaste and doubt seeping into his voice made Crowley’s heart grow fonder and Nithael stumble in his steps.

“I think he suffered, regardless,” Crowley hummed. “And what kind of a God wants to have their favourite human suffer like that? You were the only one with mercy, by a mile. You made that one bloke offer him the wine beforehand, didn’t you?”

Aziraphale said nothing, too afraid to admit trying to ease a dying man’s pain. It rubbed Crowley the wrong way to think that showing kindness was a cause of reprimand in Heaven’s book.

“It probably makes it worse when it comes from me,” Crowley huffed, “but I think you did the right thing.”

Aziraphale turned his eyes on him and there was such wordless gratitude in them that Crowley just wanted to hold him forever. 

Suddenly, there was rustling and voices around them as men appeared out of nowhere. Crowley and Aziraphale - and Nithael behind them - stopped. This was not how the night had gone, in the past. They had finished their walk in peace and quiet, and parted ways.

But no, not in this memory… or rather, a deviation of it. Here now were the Disciples, apart from one; and they were angry, with hate and hurt in their eyes.

“You!” one of them called, pointing at Aziraphale. Crowley couldn’t remember his name, but then again, he hadn’t interacted with them, much. He only knew the missing one closely. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale eyed them all, hands clasped nervously in front of him.

“You let him die!” another disciple yelled, his voice breaking. “How can you call yourself a servant of God, and let him die?!”

“But there was nothing I could do,” Aziraphale pleaded mournfully. “It’s all a part of God’s plan, and I…”

“Liar!” the disciples shouted. “It was your fault! You could’ve prevented it, you could have helped, but you let him die!”

That’s when the first stone flew and hit Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel stared in shock, seeing them all holding heavy stones, ready to cast them. 

Crowley spread his wings and stepped quickly in front of Aziraphale, gripping his shoulders and shielding him from the rocks with his wings around him. He felt the stones hitting him, but he was not there, this was not real, and it didn’t hurt him.

“Aziraphale,” he spoke quietly to the angel, eyes locked on his, hands firmly on him. “Don’t listen to them. You did nothing wrong. You are good, and merciful, and kind, and… and I… I…” he swallowed. There were words he wanted to say, feelings he needed to confess, but couldn’t. “And I know you can fight this.”

“I can’t,” Aziraphale breathed desperately. “They’re right, I didn’t do enough… I wasn’t enough…”

“You’re always more than enough, angel,” Crowley whispered. “And if you can’t find the strength, I will fight your battles for you.”

He turned around, dark wings still spread, and when he looked into the eyes of the disciples, they were glowing red.

“Hullo, Angoroth,” Crowley spat. “Let’s get this over with.” And he attacked the men, using his hands and the very stones the disciples were brandishing to beat them. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white as Nithael joined the fight.

Every time a disciple fell to the ground, he dissolved into shadows. Each one of them became nothing as he died, and all around them Angoroth wheezed in bitter laughter, until only one remained; a gross approximation of a man, to say the very least, distorted and grotesque.

“You’re even more disgusting that before,” Crowley snorted. The disciple dispersed, leaving behind Angoroth.

“Traitor,” she spat at Crowley. Nithael raised his flaming sword at her, but she merely laughed and turned into a swarm of insects; it circled Aziraphale for a while and disappeared.

Crowley’s lip curled in anger. The bitch had fled, and Aziraphale…

“Aziraphale?” he called and faced his friend. The angel stood there, staring at nothing, and had trouble focusing his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the moment he did, the world lurched and twisted, and soon Crowley could see only darkness. He closed his eyes and suppressed an enraged scream, and when he reopened them, he had to blink a few times in disbelief.

This view was something completely different.

He and Nithael were standing in a 19th century hall of some kind, a club by the looks of it. It was full of cigar smoke and men in suits. 

The air rang with the buzz of conversation and the happy sound of laughter every so often. The smell of smokes and alcohol was strong, and Crowley had to marvel at it; for a memory he wasn’t a part of, this really was a lot of realistic detail.

“I gather you weren’t here at the time?” Nithael breathed, watching the scene with wide, curious eyes.

“No. Aziraphale has been a part of many clubs, I was always more selective. Not my scene, all this… camaraderie.”

“Well, we just need to keep our eyes open for Angoroth,” Nithael whispered. “And where is Az- oh, there!”

He pointed needlessly at Aziraphale sitting in a leather armchair; Crowley would have had to have been blind not to notice the only person in the room not dressed in black.

Aziraphale was sitting there, cradling a drink and watching the people with the corners of his eyes crinkled in a fond beginning of a smile. Crowley and Nithael edged closer; nobody paid them any heed and Crowley felt like a ghost.

A young man all but jumped into the chair next to Aziraphale, who raised his gaze in greeting.

“Fell, old boy,” the man smiled, reaching to pour himself a drink from the carafe on the table next to them. “So glad you could make it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it, Cavendish,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I trust you are well?”

“Ah, you know,” the young man shrugged and grimaced as he downed a glass of brandy in one go. “As well as I can be, I suppose.”

“Is something bothering you?” the angel asked, and Crowley heard the genuine concern in his voice. Even in his memories, Aziraphale cared too damn much.

“No, well, it’s just,” Cavendish smoothed his mustache. “Father is really pressing the marriage issue.”

“Ah.”

“And Violetta is a fine girl!” the youngster exclaimed desperately, clearly trying to convince himself more than anyone else. “I suppose I can’t make up any more excuses.”

“My dear boy, I’m very sorry,” Aziraphale smiled sympathetically and clapped the man’s hand comfortingly. Cavendish gave him a half-hearted smile and a shrug, and they directed their eyes to the crowd.

“I don’t understand,” Nithael frowned. “Marriage is a happy thing, surely?”

“You don’t understand a lot of things,” Crowley hummed, eyeing the club. None of these men wanted to marry, that was for sure. With just a cursory glance, he could see so much love and affection that it was almost disgusting. Here, an adoring glance from one fellow to another; there, a subtle touch; and all over, the comfort of being among ones who understood. He was not in the least surprised that Aziraphale would gravitate towards places like this - where his support and consolation were so direly needed. Crowley knew, without a doubt, that Aziraphale had been a shoulder to cry on far more times than anyone could count.

“Isn’t this just the gayest club,” Crowley grinned.

“They do seem to be very jolly,” Nithael agreed, completely missing the point. Crowley didn’t care to correct him; it wasn’t his job to teach colloquialisms to the angel. 

“I see Luddington and Hastings have finally found their courage,” Aziraphale smiled, and Cavendish, Crowley, and Nithael followed his gaze to where two men were bashfully whispering to one another.

“Yes, it’s about time,” Cavendish laughed. “I’m happy for them, even if… well, I know you’re not a fan of infidelity.”

Cavendish looked at Aziraphale and pursed his lips. The angel glanced at him and lowered his eyes on his drink.

“Indeed I’m not,” he admitted softly. “I do pity their wives.”

He was silent for a long while, and his sudden melancholy was in stark contrast with the merry atmosphere.

“It’s cruel that they cannot just simply choose one another,” the angel mumbled, then. “That they can’t walk about in public like that, can’t tell anyone… That this relationship is something to be hidden away.”

Crowley was frozen in place. He thought there was more weight to the angel’s words than was at first evident, a personal stake, perhaps, but surely not…

“Got someone special for yourself?” Cavendish asked softly, leaning his chin on his hand. Aziraphale glanced at him warily and the smile on his lips was fleeting.

“N-no, dear boy, not in that sense,” he replied. “He’s just… a friend. An old friend, and it… it’s a bit complicated. We can’t really be seen together.”

“Whyever not?” Cavendish frowned. “Nobody’s going to be flogged for a friendship.”

“Ah, well, let’s just say we’re… on opposite sides. And his side… well. Our relationship would not win him any points. I fear for his life, as much as I wish for his company.”

Crowley swallowed. His ears were ringing. What year was this? Before or after his holy water request?

“Life,” Cavendish sighed, raising his glass to Aziraphale, “is very unfair. Yet we must plough on.”

“Indeed we must,” the angel smiled and clinked his glass with his. “And may we make the most of it!”

Crowley would have done anything to keep listening. Whether this was an actual memory, or a dream, or an amalgamation of both, this was all Aziraphale. They were in his head and this was about his wants and fears, and as guilty as he felt for eavesdropping, he needed to hear more.

But he couldn’t, because suddenly there was a tipsy man standing on a table in the middle of the room, arms spread and cheeks flushed.

“Gentlemen!” he roared. “I think it’s time for a dance!”

This was met with raucous cheers and soon tables and chairs were being moved aside, drinks were spilled on the floor; but it mattered little, as the men arranged themselves in rows in the cleared space.

“Dancing?” Nithael raised a brow.

“Come on, Fell!” Cavendish laughed, trying to separate Aziraphale from his drink.

“Futile,” Nithael chuckled. “Angels do  _ not  _ dance. He might as well try to convince him to-”

Crowley wished he could have a picture taken of Nithael with his jaw on the floor as Aziraphale took Cavendish’s arm and consequently, his place on the dance floor. Crowley crossed his arms and grinned wide. 

“This,” Nithael stammered as the men, with Aziraphale gleefully alongside them, began prancing and jumping and swirling about in the most ridiculous dance Crowley had seen. And he’d seen Hastur dance. “This is not… this must be a- a… this is not a memory, surely?”

“Whatever you say,” Crowley grinned, watching his angel beaming on the dance floor. He was sure, beyond any doubt, that this had happened. Often.

“Where is that demon?” Nithael huffed after a moment.

It was a valid question. Crowley got serious at once. They were here to do a job, and every moment that passed meant Aziraphale was getting closer to… well, closer to not being. Crowley clenched his jaw and scanned the crowd.

“Why isn’t she showing herself?” Crowley snarled.

“The more time we spend doing nothing, the closer she gets to her goal,” Nithael replied. “We should… do something. Interrupt the memory, or disrupt the events somehow…”

“On it.”

As if on cue, the dance stopped and the men all cheered. Crowley strode forward, his head clear but his heart in his throat.

“Aziraphale,” he called, and the angel looked shocked to see him.

“Crowley? What… what are you…?”

Crowley halted before him and offered him a hand with a little bow.

“Care for a dance?”

The angel was stunned to silence. The memory shifted and quietened, the men around them suddenly calming down and ignoring them. Crowley watched Aziraphale, the curious expression on his face, the doubt, the fear, the joy. Carefully, the angel placed his soft hand in his and Crowley took it, holding it firmly.

He smiled as he pulled Aziraphale closer. Not too close to appear strange for Nithael, the bastard, but suitably close for a cordial waltz. The men around them wordlessly paired up, dancing to a song nobody heard but everyone felt.

“I only ever learned one dance,” Aziraphale chuckled as Crowley moved, and he followed. “I don’t know any other steps.”

“Neither do I,” Crowley hummed. “I’m really bad at it, too. But who cares?”

They were indeed terrible at it. Not even in Aziraphale’s head could they dance, neither of them, but they did laugh a lot. Crowley met Nithael’s eyes over Aziraphale’s shoulder once, and the angel looked scandalised. Crowley made a face at him, which he thought quite clearly communicated,  _ ‘I’m interrupting, aren’t I? _ ’

And it  _ worked _ . The room around them grew darker and then Crowley saw her. She lurked in a corner, eyes on him. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed, because his eyes were firmly on Crowley, and in any other time or place Crowley would’ve allowed himself to be lost in that gaze.

Now, though, he needed to keep his wits about. He led Aziraphale further on the floor, among the now faceless couples waltzing about. Angoroth began approaching, but Nithael saw her, too. The angel drew his sword and did his best to stop her.

This was, however, Angoroth’s domain. She dodged by dispersing herself, avoided all harm by melting into the darkness. How could they ever defeat her? Crowley danced his angel further still, trying to hide among the crowd. The memory had gone completely quiet, and when Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, his expression was vacant, his eyes fixed on nothing.

“Come on, angel,” Crowley muttered between his teeth. “Stay with me.”

There was no recognition in Aziraphale’s eyes, nothing to indicate he had even heard him. But, if Crowley looked carefully and desperately enough, he thought he could see the angel trying to fight through the catatonia Angoroth had brought upon him.

“ _ Let go _ ,” Angoroth growled behind Crowley; he pulled Aziraphale away, escaped between the faceless men, but suddenly there were too many of them. They bumped into them, simultaneously unmoving and constantly crowding around them. Darkness engulfed him and he felt Aziraphale being violently pulled away from his hold.

And just like that, the angel was gone. Crowley fought against his own desperation as the memory twisted and curled around him once more.

The bright, warm light of a Mediterranean sun felt like such a relief when the world settled once more.

Crowley took a few deep, calming breaths and let himself get acquainted with their surroundings.

Ancient Greece.

Athens.

He was sitting on the ground beside carefully laid out fruit and wine, with Aziraphale next to him, clad in his luxurious white himation draped over his chiton, sunlight in his hair and on his face, looking every bit like the angel he was. 

Nithael standing behind him sort of ruined the image, but Crowley chose to ignore him and instead, took in the view and listened to the sounds of the market behind them.

This was his memory, his and Aziraphale’s.

This was, as Crowley so vividly remembered, the first time he had realised that he wanted more than to tempt the angel.

Ever since Aziraphale had smiled to him on the wall by the Garden of Eden, and fascinated him by confessing to giving away his sword, Crowley had known that the angel was someone he could tempt. He had the right kind of rebellious side to him. It might not be easy, but Crowley had never expected it to be. He had known, that very moment, that very smile, that he had a chance.

It had begun as a project. He had wanted to see how far he could tempt the angel. Perhaps there had always been more to it, he now wondered, a warmth he had sought from him, but for the longest time he had convinced himself he was just in it for the kill. Figuratively.

It would be a real chip on his shoulder, tempting an angel. A grand victory for Hell. It was a challenge, a game, and it was endlessly fascinating.

As humanity evolved, so did his ways of temptation. He figured out lust and desire. They worked wonders on humans and he couldn’t help but try them on the angel. 

He’d started slow, with lingering looks, subtle glances, suggestive words here or there. He never knew if the angel picked up on any of them, or if he was just oblivious to it. But Crowley tried relentlessly, whenever the situation arose.

That afternoon in Greece, with the sun so warm and Aziraphale’s eyes even warmer, with them both buzzed from the wine and the scenery, he had come the closest so far. And he had also realised he wanted more, not just physically, but mentally. Emotionally. He had repressed it, of course, as much as he could, and lied to himself for millennia, but looking back… he knew it had been on that day that he had known. 

The memory flowed on its course comfortably. Aziraphale and he hadn’t met in a while. Crowley had just arrived in Athens and had easily picked up Aziraphale’s scent in the crowd. This lunch had been a good way to catch up. Or, as Crowley had phrased it back then, a good way to trade news of the world, this one or the others. 

It had quickly turned into Aziraphale telling Crowley of all the wonderful wines he’d had the pleasure of tasting. Crowley had never had any difficulties appreciating alcohol, so he didn’t mind.

“So,” Crowley drawled, sipping his wine. “You got a place of your own in Athens?”

“I do,” Aziraphale nodded. “I have a very nice house, if I may say so myself. Easy to keep an eye on things, if…”

“... if you have a nice house with a great kitchen?” Crowley grinned. The angel blushed.

“One must blend in.”

“I think you blend in well,” Crowley commented. “You look every bit like a rich man - but not too rich, of course. How many rooms have you got?”

“Just… just a few,” Aziraphale admitted, looking rather conflicted.

“To think,” Crowley leaned his chin on his hand and directed his gaze on the angel, “here we are, sitting on uncomfortable ground, when you could be showing me your nice house.”

“Oh, indeed?” Aziraphale tutted and raised his brows. “I think there’s a rule somewhere about not letting demons across one’s threshold.”

“Not a rule I’ve heard of,” Crowley retorted. Oh, how he remembered this conversation, the numbing tingle of the wine, the sun on his skin. “And anyway, I might even bring you a gift.”

“What would your gift be?” Aziraphale asked, scoffing, but clearly curious. “A swarm of snakes?” Crowley smirked wickedly.

“I can’t multiply myself, no matter how much you’d want me to.”

Aziraphale turned red and averted his eyes.

“I might bring you something to eat,” Crowley went on. “A juicy apple, perhaps. That would be fitting.”

“Oh, too on the nose, that,” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Pause. “Though, I do rather like apples.”

How poignantly sinful to like such a fruit.

“I would like to see your house,” Crowley leaned forward again, pouring the angel more wine. “I’m curious. Does it have the same… divine feel to it as you?”

“It would probably make your skin boil,” Aziraphale mumbled into his cup.

“Nah,” Crowley smiled slowly. “You don’t, so it wouldn’t. Does it smell like you, I wonder?”

“Excuse me?” the angel’s eyes were wide, but oh, so intrigued.

“Ah, don’t look so scandalised,” Crowley grinned. “I quite like the way you smell.”

“That’s not something a demon should say to an angel,” Aziraphale huffed, trying to keep himself composed. “But I… I know what you mean. You also have a… smell about you.”

“Oh?” and Crowley edged closer, just as he had done back then. He had been slightly afraid of what the angel would say next - comment on the disgusting smell of evil, perhaps - but he hadn’t, and he didn’t. 

Crowley was far closer than necessary, his bare arm almost brushing against Aziraphale’s, and the angel shivered just the slightest bit.

“And what do I smell like, to you?”

“It’s…” Aziraphale swallowed and met his eyes - so close - before glancing away. “It’s hard to describe. It’s oddly subtle. Brimstone, I think… and earth. Smoke. But also… wood burning in a hearth. Spices… apples. It’s very…  _ you _ .”

Crowley remained where he was, staring at the angel with languid eyes, drinking him in. Aziraphale tried to avoid his gaze, but his eyes kept darting back to his and away again, as if afraid to look too closely.

“So,” the angel cleared his throat. “What kind of a smell do I… if it’s not unpleasant to you… then what…?”

The smile on Crowley’s lips widened slowly, and his fingers ran circles on the rim of his cup.

“I’ll tell you,” he hummed. “If I can visit you.”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” the angel breathed, his eyes now fully on his. 

“Good ideas are rarely the ones that make the best memories,” he murmured back, wetting his lips. He saw Aziraphale gulp.

“Well, it would be… rude,” the angel said, his voice husky, and it was  _ maddening _ , “not to invite you. You’ve travelled a long way, after all.”

“I have,” Crowley sighed, eyes flitting between the angel’s lips and eyes. “All I really want is a roof over my head, good company… a soft bed, perhaps.” He leaned a bit closer, still not touching, but close enough for the angel to feel the ghost of his breath on his ear. “Take me home with you.”

Aziraphale let out a shivering breath so subtle that it would’ve been easy to miss. He nodded slowly, his gaze trapped by Crowley’s as he pulled back a bit. The words had been laden with such meaning and intent that the angel couldn’t have missed it. 

And it had been that moment, that careful, scared, and desiring nod, which had made Crowley realise that this was not all he wanted from Aziraphale. In that moment, he had known that his temptation had succeeded. He could have followed the angel home, could have stolen a kiss, could have wrapped him in his arms, fallen into his bed and shown him the sweetest pleasures of the human body; but when it had all been within his grasp, he had suddenly not wanted it.

Not in that way.

Not with that intent.

He didn’t want to seduce Aziraphale just for the sake of it. Like it was a game. He didn’t want to ruin the whatever-it-was that was developing between them. He wanted the angel, badly, but… the risk was too great. The risk of Aziraphale’s inevitable regret, the almost certainty of him starting to avoid Crowley, perhaps even his Fall.

Crowley had cared too much to go through with it.

And so, that afternoon in Greece, he had walked Aziraphale home, made up an excuse at his doorstep about it being a bit too holy a place for him to enter, and slithered away into the streets, spending a few decades trying to compose himself.

But the memory stopped following history and Crowley was suddenly aware of Aziraphale’s hand on his, and the clear eyes searching his with burning with need.

Crowley would have gladly gone along with whatever this was developing into, but an angry huff from Nithael was all it took to remove the spell of the moment. He glanced at the blasted angel, who was practically seething behind Aziraphale’s back. This probably looked very bad from his point of view. If Crowley had cared a single bit about what Nithael thought, he might have felt bad about it.

But he didn’t, of course.

What he did care about was the sudden boom in the sky, a blinding, terrifying light descending on them. Crowley cowered and shielded his eyes. When he was able to see again, he saw an angel hovering there, his massive wings beating the air, his face too divine and too radiant to be real, his purple eyes shining with judgement and doom.  _ Gabriel _ .

“Aziraphale”, Gabriel’s steely voice boomed with power and menace. “You have succumbed to temptation. You have let your soul be defiled, corrupted - you are filthy, despicable... a disgrace to Heaven.”

“No, please…” Aziraphale pleaded. Nithael had fallen on his knees and was staring at the image of the archangel in fear and awe. “Gabriel… I never meant to…”

“Be silent!” Gabriel’s unearthly voice commanded. “Time and time again, you fail me. You fail  _ Her _ . She has no place for the likes of you by her side, and for that, I cast you out.”

Gabriel held up his hand and Crowley was horrified to see Aziraphale’s wings unfurl, only to catch fire. Nithael cried out in dismay, and Aziraphale collapsed on the ground, pleading.

“Please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“You are no longer Hers,” Gabriel said mercilessly. “You are nothing. You are, and always will be, Fallen.”

Crowley stared as Aziraphale’s white feathers burned and turned to ash, and it was too much. He ran over, pulled his angel back on his knees, holding him up and forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Aziraphale, angel,” he insisted in a hushed voice, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek. “Listen to me. This is not what it’s like, I promise you, it’s not, I should know. He doesn’t have the authority, he can’t do this to you. You are the best of them, and he can’t hurt you like this. It’s not even him!”

He turned to look at Gabriel again and saw a wicked grin on his face. His eyes blazed red. 

Crowley sought Aziraphale’s eyes once more, and there was a spark of something familiar in them. 

“It’s not even him,” he repeated quietly and pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “I’ll show you.”

With great effort, he left his angel’s side and stood to face Angoroth disguised as an archangel - a grotesque sight if there ever was one.

“Nithael, snap out of it!” he spat, and didn’t wait for a confirmation; instead, he lunged at Angoroth and caught her mid-flight. He tore and punched, forced her out of the sky and down on the ground, and kept beating her with whatever he could, mostly his fists. 

Her appearance shifted from Gabriel’s into her own. She fought back with all her might, and for a dying demon, she was very strong. Nithael ran over, and Crowley dodged as a flaming sword descended on her. It hit her arm, and she screamed; but there was laughter mixed in.

“You can’t hurt me,” she spat, retreating and jumping to Aziraphale. “He is mine, and I shall have him.”

She enveloped Aziraphale in her darkness and Crowley lunged forwards. Aziraphale’s eyes met his, and he held out a hand.

“Crowley…” he gasped, but Angoroth took him and the memory away before Crowley could reach him.

“No!” he roared as reality shifted once more. “You absolute bitch, I will end you!”

But of course, Angoroth didn’t care about his threats, and his rage was lost in the darkness.


	13. Mind Battles, part II

The first thing that hit Crowley as the darkness dissipated was pain. It was strange - this wasn’t reality, he shouldn’t be hurting.

It was not regular pain, he soon realised; it was a ghost of past pain, and that seemed far more fitting.

It was still uncomfortable as Hell.

“Why this memory,” he grumbled as he fell on his knees by the river. Moonlight glittered on the water as he sought shelter in the few bushes growing by it.

“Are you in actual pain?” Nithael inquired curiously. Not an ounce of sympathy, there. He was looking kind of harrowed, though; fighting the image of Gabriel had probably been a bit too much for the bastard.

“Sort of,” Crowley spat. “Hard to explain. So I won’t.”

The Egyptians really were rather shrewd, he’d come to find. Very loyal to their own gods, and the ones Crowley had come across and tried to tempt hadn’t reacted well when they had seen his eyes and drawn a few conclusions of their own.

_ Apep _ , they’d called him, and attacked him in Ra’s honour. Somehow, a deity of chaos in snake-form, Ra’s enemy, wasn’t very popular among the people Crowley had visited. It had still been a bit of an overkill for them to lash out like that. 

_ Ironic, in a way, _ Crowley thought as he laid down on the riverbank and let out a careful breath. It was he who had started the whole thing, way back when. Appeared as a serpent to a few people, and lo and behold, a myth was born.

Such a popular myth, in fact, that it had now almost discorporated him. 

“What happened?” Nithael asked, and Crowley swore to himself.

“Zealots,” he huffed. “They were a bit too happy to stab and pummel. I didn’t get away fast enough.”

“I can see that,” Nithael hummed, looking at him from head to toe. Crowley hated him. He knew he was in bad shape - bleeding stab wounds and bruises all over, a general mess of a corporation. Crowley was lucky that this was a memory; the pain was greatly dulled, but he remembered it vividly and it made the memory worse, too.

“Why didn’t you miracle the wounds away?” Nithael asked.

“Have  _ you  _ ever been beaten to the brink of discorporation?” Crowley hissed angrily. Nithael shook his head. “Then stop asking stupid questions. When we’re out of here, I’ll be glad to help you understand how this feels.”

“N-not necessary,” Nithael swallowed and glanced across the river as something white caught his attention. Crowley looked and smiled. He had already known Aziraphale had arrived, and even in this memory it warmed him; he had never been so relieved and thankful to see an angel in his life as he had been back then, bleeding out in the bushes. Back then, of course, there had also been some wariness on his part; he’d hated to be so weak and helpless in front of the angel - if he’d wanted to hurt him, he easily could’ve, and it had made him cautious. It had still been relative early-on in their acquaintance.

Aziraphale stood by the river and glanced around. When he saw nobody, he stepped on the water and hastily walked across it. Nithael raised his brows at this, but Crowley could only close his eyes with a small smile. He was hurting, but he knew it would end soon.

“Crawly?” Aziraphale whispered as he arrived on the other side and approached uncertainly. “Is it you?”

“S’me alright,” Crowley said, his voice slightly slurry. Ah, yes… by this point, he’d lost quite a bit of blood already.

“Oh… oh dear,” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and scared as he arrived by his side and took in the damage. “What happened to you?”

“Just a bit of an argument, really,” Crowley mumbled. “I miscalculated.”

Aziraphale knelt by his side. His eyes were firmly on Crowley’s, full of compassion and fear, and his hands were already hovering above his midriff.

“May I…?” he asked in a low voice. Crowley looked at him and wanted to scream his agreement; but instead, he nodded silently, as he’d done in ancient times.

Aziraphale began miracling the worst wound away and Crowley drew a sharp, hissing breath between his teeth at the sensation as his body tensed involuntarily. 

“Am I hurting you?” Aziraphale asked, alarmed.

“S’alright,” Crowley said with some effort. “It just stings. Probably all that divine stuff, you know. Just… keep going.”

Aziraphale continued his work. Crowley tried to focus on other things, but even though the pain was dulled by the memory, he still recalled it exactly. The physical pain being eased by holy stinging had been a very strange thing to experience. Pain to cure pain. Not in any way pleasant, but as the angel had miracled away wound after wound, he’d begun to feel better. He’d begun to relax; he’d closed his eyes, laid there under the angel’s healing hands, and forgotten that he could’ve miracled the rest of his ails away himself when Aziraphale had taken care of the worst ones.

But he hadn’t. He’d let the angel do it, because Crowley couldn’t remember a time when someone else had shown such care for him. Demons tended to miracle their own battle wounds away, and not even consider lending a hand. It was weakness, after all, to be healed. To need healing. But the angel did it with such compassion and care, and didn’t seem to remember that if Heaven found out, he’d be in trouble.

Crowley didn’t want him to stop.

When all the wounds were gone, Crowley sat up and leaned on his knees. He watched Aziraphale who was eyeing him worriedly, as if trying to make sure he’d done a thorough enough job.

Saying thank you was out of the question, of course, as they had established a few centuries ago.

“I’d consider this a debt paid,” Crowley hummed, instead. Aziraphale looked confused for a moment and Crowley just knew the angel hadn’t even thought about the time when he’d been healed by a demon. He’d done all this because he’d seen someone suffering, and had wanted to help.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed after a moment, remembering what Crowley was alluding to. “Yes, well, quite.”

They sat side by side at the bank, watching the moonlight dance on the river. Crowley remembered how they’d talked a bit more about what they both were doing in the area, how things were going, where they’d been since the last time they’d seen one another.

But Crowley was stunned when Aziraphale deviated from the memory. 

“I can’t bear to see you hurt,” the angel murmured, eyes downcast. “I… corporations are so fragile. Please, you must take care of yourself. I don’t think I could go on if you… if...”

Crowley stared into the angel’s glimmering eyes, and swallowed. 

“Aziraphale... You… do you know where we are?”

“North of Thebes,” was the answer, but then the angel frowned. “No, that can’t be. We’re not in Egypt at all. Shouldn’t we be in-” his eyes widened. “Oh, Crowley. Her pull is so strong.”

“ _ Angel _ ,” came a rasping whisper out of the darkness. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm reflexively as Angoroth materialised out of thin air. Her grin was wide and hungry, but she made no move to attack. Instead, she focused her gaze on Aziraphale and dark tendrils of her hair crept towards him and wrapped around him.

Crowley and Nithael tried to pry them off of him, but Angoroth pushed them back and pulled Aziraphale close.

“I know your greatest weakness,” she whispered to him, eyes drifting fleetingly to Crowley. “Oh, how I’ll enjoy this.”

She was gone with Aziraphale even as Crowley jumped towards them, trying to catch his angel. Once more everything went dark, and Crowley roared in the nothingness.

_ This will never end, _ Crowley thought in the void of Aziraphale’s mind, eyes tightly shut.  _ No - this will end, but when it does, it’ll be too late. She’ll win, and Aziraphale will perish, and that will be the end. _

_ Maybe I should just enjoy the ride while it lasts. I could spend the last moments with him, in these memories, we could make the most of them. It’s a lost battle already, isn’t it?  _

He opened his eyes and saw around him the bookshop, with its piles of books, old-fashioned furniture, dust… it was so real, as if he’d never left; and there was Aziraphale, behind him, closing the door after him. 

Nithael was beside him, looking around with some relief.

As Crowley took in the familiar, comforting surroundings, the place Aziraphale so loved, he knew could never give up. It wasn’t an option. He would get his angel back and they would spend countless hours in the shop, just… doing nothing.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a small smile as he brushed past him and placed a bag on the table with such love and care that Crowley knew it had to contain books.

And it did, because he recognised it; this was the bag containing Aziraphale’s collection of books of prophecy, the ones he had tried to fool the Nazis with, the ones Crowley had miracled safe when the bomb had fallen on the church.

It was dark outside and Aziraphale invited Crowley into the backroom. He lit a single lamp and asked him to take a seat.

Crowley did as he was told, as he’d done back in 1941.

He had fond memories of this moment. It had been a while since they’d seen each other, though Crowley had seen Aziraphale often. He’d kept an eye on him, every now and again, just to make sure he was alright. And not up to anything stupid. 

Aziraphale hadn’t spoken much on their ride back to the shop through the war-ravaged land; and even at the shop, he’d been uncustomarily quiet. He’d offered Crowley a drink - a bottle of Merlot he’d been saving - and they’d sat there, drinking in silence.

It’s what happened now, too. Crowley noticed the angel stealing glances at him, constantly on the verge of saying something.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said after a while, and Crowley knew what was coming. “I’m… I just want to say how grateful I am. For my books. It was… well. It was considerate.”

Crowley watched him over his drink. “Well, you saved us from discorporation, that was the least I could do.”

“I rather think you saved me from discorporation first,” the angel smiled, fingers smoothing his glass. “I… I owe you.”

“Dangerous thing, that,” Crowley hummed. “Saying you owe a demon.”

“Well,” Aziraphale’s chuckle was nervous and breathy. “Wouldn’t be the first time. I’ll pay my debt to you. One day.”

Crowley kept smiling at him. It had been such a covert promise, even back then - a promise to see one another again, that they would keep doing what they’d been doing from the beginning.

“Here’s to that,” Crowley raised his glass, and Aziraphale mirrored the gesture.

Not much had happened that night in the shop. They’d drank their wine in comfortable silence, Crowley had got up to leave, and they’d parted ways. But it was the mood of the night that had stuck with Crowley for the longest time.

The air had been full of tension, of unspoken words, and it had hung over them like a blanket of electricity. Crowley could swear he’d felt Aziraphale radiate enough warmth and affection to heat up the whole of London.

And when they had said goodbye, the angel had seen him to the door and bid him goodnight with a strange look in his eyes, a nervousness about him; Crowley had wondered about it back then, but only now, in this memory, did he truly understand.

Aziraphale looked at him with those eyes, and what Crowley saw in them made him want to stay forever; the deep, millennia-strong love shining in them both entranced and scared him to the point where he thought was imagining it all. Had there really been so much love in those eyes back then? How had Crowley not seen it? The power of the realisation stunned him to the brink of panic.

So much love. Had it been like that ever since then? How had he not noticed? In how deep denial had he been? Crowley swallowed. This love had nailed him to the floor.

There they stood, as they had done back then, Crowley at the door, ready to go. And there were those eyes, with that divine affection, the confusion, the fear; the parted lips which Crowley found so inviting.

“Well, see you around, angel,” Crowley said, guided by the memory, and tipped his hat. Aziraphale drew a breath and smiled, clearly wanting to say something, but unable to do so.

Angoroth hadn’t shown up. Maybe he should stay? Coax her out of her hiding? Do something he had wanted to do for a long time now, but had never dared.

Crowley reached out to the angel’s face, caressing his cheek with his fingers. Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out the faintest breath, and when he opened them again, the passion in them engulfed Crowley.

“Angel…”

He could barely speak, didn’t remember that this wasn’t real, didn’t remember that Nithael was fidgeting there, making strange noises.

Angoroth would not let them have any respite, however; suddenly, a familiar noise of a falling bomb echoed outside and before they had time to do a thing, the shop exploded in blaze and shrapnel.

It was chaos, that much Crowley could tell in the darkness and dust that followed. He found himself lying on a pile of stones, could see book pages burning and flying about, saw Nithael scrambling to his feet further away.

Then, he heard an anguished cry and saw Aziraphale stumbling towards him with an expression of pure agony and fear.

“Crowley!” he cried, falling on his knees next to him, cradling his head. “Oh, no, please no… no… stay with me…”

“What…? I’m fine.”

But Aziraphale could barely hear him. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as his eyes scanned Crowley’s midriff. Curious, he looked down at himself and saw a large, gaping, bloody gash where some of his corporation’s vital organs were supposed to be.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” he muttered. He couldn’t feel a thing, because he wasn’t actually there and this had never happened, but he couldn’t get up, either. Aziraphale placed a shaking hand over the wound, but nothing happened. Blessed angel, trying to heal him.

“Please…” Aziraphale sobbed. “Please, someone…”

“It’s alright,” Crowley tried to assure him. “None of this is real. I’m not dying, I promise you...”

But the angel would not, or could not, hear him. When he couldn’t miracle the wound away, he turned his beautiful eyes on him and the heartbreak in them hurt Crowley more than any mortal wound could.

“Aziraphale,” he choked softly. “It’s okay, I swear. This isn’t real. I’m fine, I promise you. Please…”

His words fell on deaf ears as Aziraphale collapsed, sobbing against Crowley’s shoulder. Darkness was creeping closer to them, and Crowley couldn’t move, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Nithael! Do something, you bastard!” he growled through gritted teeth.

“O-oh,” Nithael gulped. “Sorry! I… for a moment I thought she had actually managed to harm you…”

“No such luck today,” Crowley spat, a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder in a vain attempt to console him. “But I can’t move, and I think we’re about to have company…”

As if on cue, Angoroth rose from the rubble, grinning hungrily, eyes on Aziraphale. Crowley noticed she was moving more sluggishly and the shine in her eyes looked almost feverish.

She was dying.

But as long as she had a hold on Aziraphale, she was going to take him with her. 

Nithael drew his sword once more and advanced on Angoroth, but she dodged him with a hiss, kicking him down on her way to Aziraphale. She was quick, far too quick, all liquid shadows, and soon she was looming over the angel.

Crowley cursed at her as she draped her darkness over Aziraphale and pulled him away. She faced him, her hair and shadows wrapping around the angel.

“It won’t be long, now…” she grinned wickedly. “I will make your final moments agony.”

Nithael was running towards them, but the world contorted and twisted once more, and Crowley and Nithael fell into darkness while Angoroth took Aziraphale away.

The scene unfolding before Crowley’s eyes, when he angrily opened them again, had not much improved.

Hell.

He was standing next to Nithael, watching a crowd of demons jeering, Beelzebub on their chair, Dagon and Hastur by their side… and Crowley, standing in the middle, hands bound.

_ Ah, shit fucks. _

This was Aziraphale’s memory of Crowley’s trial. 

He glanced at Nithael, who frowned.

“Not your memory, then?” the angel whispered, eyes darting between the two Crowleys. “But not Aziraphale’s, either, since he’s not here…”

“Must be a nightmare,” Crowley said quickly. Nithael really didn’t need to know that Aziraphale was indeed there. These were dangerous waters. In more ways than one.

Nithael gasped when Michael appeared, all cold radiance, holding the deadliest weapon any angel could wield.

Crowley was too busy trying to think of how he could redirect the memory without letting Nithael know how they’d done it to realise that Michael did not pour the holy water into the bathtub.

Instead, the Crowley of the memory was stripped of his coat, dragged to a wall and chained to it.

“What is happening?” Nithael mumbled, and Crowley finally turned to look.

_ Well _ , the thought,  _ this is certainly not what happened, unless Aziraphale left a few key details out. _

“Ehh, it’s- it’s probably what Aziraphale thinks happened when I had my little trial,” Crowley replied, trying to sound casual. “I mean. I was there. Obviously. And this is not what happened. This doesn’t even look like Hell, there’s not enough… uh, fire.”

Nithael nodded, and Crowley sighed in relief mentally. The bastard would believe anything. Not like he had a reference point to compare to. Not many angels visited Hell, after all - only the nasty ones and the crafty ones.

Michael approached the not-Crowley with the holy water. Beelzebub sat on the throne, watching with a nondescript expression, flies darting around them.

“For your crimes,” Beelzebub called, their voice emotionless and cold, “you are hereby sentenced to death by holy water. Archangel, do your worst.”

Michael smiled, a cruel sight, and dipped her fingers into the pitcher. She placed herself in front of Crowley, fingers dripping with water, and flicked her hand at his face. Droplets of water hit him, burning little holes in his skin, and he hissed in pain.

“This is a bit disturbing,” Crowley muttered next to Nithael. The memory had deviated rather quickly. Not only was this what hadn’t happened, but the memory-Crowley wasn’t Aziraphale anymore, either.

“Aziraphale should be here,” Nithael said, a strain in his voice as he watched Michael wet her hand in holy water again and let it drip it slowly on not-Crowley’s skin. The demon roared in agony and spat curses at them all. The other demons jeered and cowered simultaneously. “This is his dream… or nightmare, but he should be here.”

“No!” a cry echoed, and only Crowley and Nithael turned to look. There was Aziraphale, a bright light in the darkness of Hell, trying to fight his way through to Michael and Crowley, but being restrained by impassive demons. “Stop! Michael, stop it!”

Nobody paid any attention to him. Michael took the pitcher and poured a trickle of water on not-Crowley’s arm, melting away skin and flesh and eliciting more screams and curses - not only from her victim, but from Aziraphale.

“Crowley!” he cried. “Please, Michael, stop this! I’ll do anything,  _ anything  _ if you just… I will take any punishment, I will…”

Michael paid him no heed. Nithael stared at Aziraphale, eyes wide and lips parted in what Crowley figured was shock and understanding; he might have felt more strongly about the idiot’s revelation had he not been so completely absorbed in his angel’s desperation and his own double’s horrible fate.

“Michael!” Aziraphale begged, eyes shining with tears and panic. “Let him go! Let me… let me take his place, let them breathe hellfire on me, burn away my wings yourself and condemn me for all eternity, just… stop this!”

Nithael gasped in horror. “Does he even know what he’s saying… is he really ready to… for… for  _ you...” _

Crowley swallowed, staring at his angel. His own angel, his precious, kind, fussy angel, the angel who was ready to Fall for him… and Crowley knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if their roles were reversed, he would readily dive into holy water to save Aziraphale from Hell.

He couldn’t take this anymore. It was strange to hear his own agonised screams, and unbearable to watch Aziraphale falling into pieces at the sight. Crowley strode over to his angel, blocking his view of Michael and the torture she was administering.

“Aziraphale,” he said firmly, removing his sunglasses and fixing his gaze on the angel, forcing him to look. “It’s not me. I’m here. That’s not… that’s not me, that’s not how it happened, you know it better than anyone. Look at me.”

Not-Crowley let out a pained shriek behind him and Aziraphale tore his eyes away, trying to see, trying to escape the hold of the demons.

“No, no-no-no,” Crowley placed a hand firmly on Aziraphale’s cheek, directing his eyes back on him. “Look at  _ me _ . Not at them, not at the… whatever that is.”

Aziraphale’s eyes bore into his and something flashed behind them. His brows knit together. “Crowley…?”

“Yes, yesss, angel,” Crowley nodded. “It’s me. Do you… do you remember…?”

The angel’s frown deepened. “But you… they are hurting you.”

Again, screams of agony from behind him.

“They’re  _ not _ ,” Crowley hastened to say. “I’m here, you can see that. That’s not real. Actually, none of this is, but you know. Do you remember what happened? We fought Angoroth in front of your bookshop. You gave her a good thrashing, and you looked very dignified and mighty. Very divine, very intimidating. Remember?”

“Angoroth…” Aziraphale repeated. His eyes widened. “Crowley,” he gasped. “She… she did something, poured her dying essence into me…”

“Yes,” Crowley urged him on. “She did, and we need to drive her out. But I need you to help me, I need…”

_ I need you, it’s all I’ve ever needed. _

“I need you to fight.”

“How?” Aziraphale sounded so desperate. “Crowley, she’s so strong, and I… I feel so weak. Everything is just darkness, and pain, and the constant, never-ending pull on my consciousness, it’s… I can’t...”

“You can,” Crowley insisted, even as his double’s agony rang in his ears. “You are the strongest person I know. You don’t see it, but I swear it’s true. I’ve seen it, time and time again, over several millennia… you’ve never turned away from suffering, not from difficult times, you’ve… you’ve always stayed, always lent courage to those who had none, you… angel y-you… I wouldn’t have ever come this far without you. You… I...”

_ I love you I love you I love you. _

“You’re everything to me.”

Aziraphale stared at him with open, clear eyes, and the demonic hands that were restraining him fell away. 

Suddenly, the not-Crowley laughed, his voice mixed with Angoroth’s raspy wheeze. Crowley turned to look; Michael stepped aside and revealed her handiwork. Not-Crowley hung in his chains, horrible wounds and burns all over him, bone exposed in places, skin a melted mess of blood and brimstone.

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped brokenly, but Crowley grabbed his hand and held it firmly.

“It’s not me, angel,” he spoke between his teeth. It wasn’t him, but it  _ could  _ have been him. A bath in holy water seemed far less cruel in comparison. Beelz might have had an ounce of mercy in them, after all.

Not-Crowley’s smile was too wide, eyes not yellow but red, and it was Angoroth’s voice that came out when he spoke.

“Heavenly power,” Angoroth gurgled, watching Aziraphale. “Beautiful, isn’t it? If a bit of holy water can do this, what do you think an angel could do to a demon? An accidental miracle, a bit of divine light directed wrong… and a demon melted into a puddle.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Crowley hissed, squeezing his angel’s hand harder.

“You could do this,” Angoroth continued, speaking to Aziraphale. “Just by being you, you could destroy him. Stop fighting and give up, Principality, and the world will be better off. Your pet demon will be better off without you.”

“The fucker is full of lies,” Crowley growled and faced Aziraphale again. “Listen, angel, if you give into that crap, I will personally saunter up to Heaven and ask Gabriel to smite me to atoms. I swear I will. In six thousand years you haven’t hurt me, and you never will.”  _ Physically, at least,  _ but that was beside the point.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he looked at Crowley again, there was grim determination in his gaze.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry for ever doubting.”

The angel let go of his hand and stepped towards not-Crowley, who was turning more and more into Angoroth. The other demons and Michael had disappeared, the space turned into darkness and vague shapes of walls and stone. He unfurled his wings and summoned his sword.

Angoroth smoothly disentangled herself from the chains, turning back to her own, horrid form, hunched and ready to pounce.

“I have never killed,” Aziraphale said calmly. “And I regret to have to tarnish my record. But I cannot let you drag me down with you.”

Nithael stepped by his side, unfurling his own wings, sword in hand. Angoroth grinned and with all her might, showed them her ancient form. 

Her wings, all three pairs of them, mangled and yet strong, filled the space as she pulled herself to her full height. Her eyes burned with red flame and hellfire crackled under her skin, pulsing visibly in her veins. Her hair spread and billowed around her on its own accord, and she looked every bit the Devourer of Angels she was meant to be, blood of victims past dripping from her sharp teeth.

The angels took a few steps back and something stirred in Crowley, a memory far, far older than time, and the power of it dragged him down to his knees.

The pain, the burning, the fire. The skies falling down, the ground rising to meet it. Angels, with eyes burning with heaven’s light, brandishing their weapons; and demons, consumed by hellfire, meeting them with abandon. And the Devourer, tearing angels apart, ripping out their very souls and consuming them. Angels running from her in terror, demons gaining confidence by her side.

It took him a while to recover from the image - he’d done his best to forget, honestly. When he regained his composure, he saw Aziraphale and Nithael engaged in a battle with Angoroth, them radiant and fiery, her dark and smoldering. Shadow and flame clashed, light and darkness vied for dominance.

Angoroth’s claws slashed at Nithael’s wing, but all it did was make him falter a bit and he was back in the fray. No sign of injury was to be seen on him.

She clawed at Aziraphale’s wing, tearing off feathers, and the angel cried in pain - the wing remained mangled, bleeding, imperfect.

Crowley swallowed - he and Nithael weren’t really here, they could not be hurt, but Aziraphale was fighting for his life.

And Crowley was going to do his all to help.

He turned himself into a large serpent, the kind of which he hadn’t been since Eden. He slithered over and coiled himself around Angoroth’s legs, reached higher and sank his teeth in her wing.

She roared in anger - she wasn’t hurt by him, but she was hindered. Crowley could feel her trying to shapeshift, to dissolve into shadows again, and that would just not do.

“ _ Azzziraphale _ ,” Crowley hissed, releasing Angoroth’s wing, but tightening his hold on her legs and torso.  _ “Ssssstrike herrr, fassssst… sssslay herrr…” _

Realising what was happening, Angoroth reached out to Aziraphale and sank her claws into his chest, ignoring Nithael’s fierce blows on her arms. Aziraphale groaned in pain, but his eyes were clear, liquid steel, and he raised his sword and sank it into her chest, pressing down as hard as he could, and she screamed.

Angoroth writhed and roared and broke free from Crowley’s hold; she swung Nithael away with her wings and collapsed on top of Aziraphale, claws still latched in him. The angel fought back, tried to push her away, but she was oblivious to it all.

She was dying, Crowley noticed, burning from the inside out, trying her hardest to take Aziraphale with her.

But the angel used his wings for leverage, pushing himself upright. He grabbed her bony wrists and wrung her hands off of him, ripping the claws out of his chest. He stumbled backwards, watching as she burned, as her eyes flamed and then dimmed, her bones cracked and her veins burst, covering her in fire; the sword lodged in her chest shone bright as divine flames consumed her. 

And then, she was gone; the sword dropped on the ground with a clang.

Aziraphale fell on his knees, gasping, clutching his bleeding chest. Crowley slithered to him, Nithael ran to him. The darkness around them eased, it felt peaceful, warm, familiar… Crowley left his snake form and gathered his angel into his arms, steadying him.

“Aziraphale,” he swallowed. “Just… stay with me?”

“Always,” the angel breathed, a smile on his lips, and he rested his head against Crowley’s shoulder.

The darkness shifted, the world convulsed, a bright light blinded them, and suddenly Crowley found himself sitting on the sofa in the bookshop with a bleeding angel in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not be rewriting the memory scenes into actual, extended scenes for another fic, so if you have favourite moments in history you'd like to see, I'm open to suggestions :D


	14. Freedom

He could smell brimstone. Smoke… apples. The scent was familiar, comforting. He didn’t want to open his eyes because he feared what he might see. He was content to stay like this, safe, leaning into the scent, head resting against smooth fabric. His fingers curled in the same material, trying to find stability; he felt grounded and real, but how could he know for sure? How could he know this reality wouldn’t soon twist and fade into darkness? He felt wiry arms holding him, hands gripping him gently.

“Aziraphale?” he heard a voice call his name. The voice that had always called to him, greeted him and grounded him…

“Angel, talk to me.”

“Crowley,” he sighed, opening his eyes and slowly raising himself from his resting position. The world was a bit hazy and unfocused, but he met a pair of yellow eyes easily, a beacon in the chaos, his one constant.

“Are you… is she…?” Crowley’s voice was wary, scared. Aziraphale could but smile, grateful beyond words and loving beyond reason.

He let out a breath as relief washed over him - he did not feel her influence, and though he was physically hurting, his mind was free. “She’s… gone.”

Crowley’s tense shoulders slumped in relief and Aziraphale heard a little nervous laughter behind him. He turned to look and saw Nithael there, clasping his knees and shaking slightly, looking relieved. Aziraphale smiled and looked around. His bookshop… familiar and welcoming as always.

“You’re hurt,” Crowley said, then, drawing Aziraphale’s attention back on him at once. He was looking at him all over, and Aziraphale became fully aware of his state. There was a rather painful gash on his shoulder where Angoroth had bitten him; the claw marks inflicted by her in his mind had followed him to the physical world, burning and aching. His wings, though hidden away, hurt from the cuts. He knew he was missing feathers.

“I can’t miracle it away,” Crowley swallowed. The pain in his eyes made Aziraphale’s heart ache. “Angel, I’m sorry, I can’t… it doesn’t work, I...”

“It’s alright, dear,” Aziraphale whispered fondly.

“I can-” Nithael began, but Aziraphale stopped him with a stern smile.

“It’s alright,” he said and closed his eyes. He felt his strength returning to him as he slowly miracled his ails away. He felt his shoulder knit together, his wounds close, his wings heal. The wound on his cheek, the grisly mark of Angoroth, faded and disappeared.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Crowley watching him carefully, eyes full of concern.

“I’m fine,” he smiled, “thank you. Again.”

Crowley made a few noises nobody could make heads or tails of. 

“Your clothes are a bit torn,” the demon said, then. Aziraphale looked and saw to his dismay that it was true. His beautiful vest slashed, his coat bloodied and torn. 

“Oh…”

Crowley glanced at him and with a wave of his hand, miracled it all better. 

Aziraphale smiled at him, and loved him so much. Crowley crossed his arms and looked away, finding a pair of shades and pushing them up his nose.

“So,” Nithael cleared his throat. “I suppose she’s gone.”

“I should think so,” Aziraphale replied. “Thank you, my dear boy.”

“I did what I could,” Nithael smiled. “Uh… I should probably go return your sword… before they notice it’s gone.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “And… what are you planning on telling them…?”

“Nothing, for now,” Nithael replied, averting his eyes. “My report isn’t due yet, and… I need time to think.”

“I wouldn’t do anything rash if I was you,” Crowley said in a very ominous manner.

“I won’t,” Nithael exclaimed, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite decide if he was scared or insulted. “I just… I need to… there’s a lot for me to take in.”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley warily even as Nithael averted his eyes and blushed furiously.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, if that’s alright?” Nithael got up to leave and Aziraphale followed suit. 

“Of course. Drop in any time.”

Nithael nodded and took his hand, but kept avoiding looking in his eyes. Aziraphale followed him to the door and they both stopped to look at the busy street - just a short while ago, it had been deserted save for a few celestial entities fighting for their existence.

“Well,” Nithael sighed. “I’ll see you later, Aziraphale.”

“Take care, Nithael.”

He closed the door after the fresh Principality, thinking that the boy had really earned his title, now. His standing in Heaven would rather depend on the content of his report and they way he chose to present it. He had a feeling Nithael had seen and heard more than he had ever wanted to, and was more than a bit confused. Aziraphale could hardly blame him; the whole experience had been a whirlwind of emotions for everyone involved.

When he turned, he saw Crowley standing at the other end of the room, watching him.

Love overwhelmed him. He felt like a fool, never letting it shine over Crowley, never telling him, fearing he would reject it, or be afraid of it. He’d thought they had all the time in the world after Armageddon, but the events of the past few days had clearly proven otherwise.

How sad that he had needed mortal peril to realise it. He remembered seeing Crowley in his memories, the ones twisted by Angoroth; the way the demon had looked at him, spoken to him, and touched him had made him realise that maybe, perhaps, Crowley did feel more towards him than he had ever dared to hope. 

“Crowley,” he said, walking towards him, but halting in the middle of the room. He needed distance, needed breathing space, couldn’t just crowd him with his feelings. Aziraphale was numb with the decision he’d made and the nagging uncertainty was mixed with the mad thrill of it. “I… I don’t know how I could thank you. For all you’ve done.”

“Ngh,” Crowley shrugged. “Git- I mean, Nithael helped. A bit.”

“I know,” Aziraphale breathed. “But I meant… you’ve done so much for me. Not just in the past week, but the past… oh, I don’t know. Six millennia?”

Crowley said nothing.

“I’ve not always seen it,” Aziraphale went on, eyes on the floor, trying to find the words. “Nor have I always appreciated it. But I can now see everything you’ve done… you were there for me when nobody else was.”

“S’nothing,” Crowley muttered. “We’re friends.”

“We are,” Aziraphale smiled briefly; the word didn’t sound right, and was perfect, at the same time. “But Crowley, I… I’ve come to realise more and more over the years, and though it took me far too long to understand… I…” he raised his eyes on his dearest, oldest, best friend, swallowed, and gathered his courage. “I love you.”

The words, confessed in bated breath, hung in the air between them. Crowley stared at him from behind his shades, masking his beautiful eyes from him. Time stilled, and Aziraphale could but wait.

Crowley rolled his shoulders and looked away.

“Yeah, but, angel,” he sucked his teeth. “You also  _ love  _ tea and sushi.”

Aziraphale’s heart melted with affection. He knew, just knew, that Crowley was too afraid to let the words sink in. After all, hadn’t Aziraphale always pulled away after every push from Crowley, ran when things felt too intimate, denied his own love from himself?

“I do,” Aziraphale chuckled softly. “I do love tea, and sushi.” Crowley looked at him, his mouth a thin line. Aziraphale clasped his hands together, fiddling nervously with his ring, and took a few steps towards Crowley.

“I love those things. And I love books, and concertos, and dessert… I love humanity, little restaurants, wine… I love the first rays of sunshine on a spring day.” He was now standing in front of Crowley and as he looked at him, he saw his own nervous reflection on his shades.

“I love all that. But, Crowley, I… I love you differently. I love you the most.”

He reached up, trying to stop his hand from shaking, and gently removed the sunglasses from Crowley’s face. He looked into those lovely, yellow eyes, and swallowed. They were so raw and open and he was utterly captured by their gaze. He brushed his fingers against the demon’s cheek, carefully and tentatively.

“Crowley...”

He had been prepared to confess his love over and over, until Crowley believed him, but he didn’t have to. Suddenly Crowley’s hands were on his face, pulling him into a kiss that stopped time. It was needy, millennia of longing and love poured into that very moment, and Aziraphale could but melt into it, let Crowley part his lips with his own and taste him. He held onto his demon as if his life depended on it, and Crowley kissed him like a man starved. The scent of smoke and spices overwhelmed Aziraphale, he could taste apples on Crowley’s lips. It was all he had ever wanted, but had never realised how much.

“My love,” Aziraphale gasped when Crowley pulled away, searching his eyes with his own.

A disbelieving look glimmered in Crowley’s eyes and he still had his hands on his face, smoothing his cheeks with thin fingers.

“Since Athens, angel,” the demon whispered hoarsely. “That’s when I- it’s when I… since then I have...” he struggled with the words, but Aziraphale understood. It warmed him even more.

“My dear,” he smiled and turned to kiss the demon’s palm. “1941. But I rather think I’ve loved you for far longer than that. I was just too scared to realise.”

Crowley huffed with quiet, nervous laughter. 

“I remember,” Aziraphale whispered, dropping his gaze on Crowley’s lips momentarily. “I do remember that time in Athens. We had wine and fruit at the agora.”

“Yeah,” Crowley’s voice was husky. “I relived it in your… I mean…”

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “Memory and fabrication are still a bit muddled in my head, but I know which memories I relived, too. That day… you followed me home.”

He looked into Crowley’s eyes again and Crowley lowered his hands from his face to his neck, all the while caressing him so gently that it was hard for Aziraphale to focus.

“I thought… I thought you wanted to come in,” Aziraphale mumbled. “But you didn’t.” The statement was a careful question, an inquiry - Aziraphale had often thought about that day. He had been so sure Crowley had wanted more from him then, and he had been willing to give it. And though he had later been relieved he hadn’t gone through with it - and terrified that he had been  _ willing  _ to go through with it - he had often wondered if he had read the signs wrong, after all. If Crowley had had no intention to ever come inside.

“It wasn’t the right time,” Crowley swallowed. “Not the… it wouldn’t have been right.”

The snake eyes were fixed on his lips even as his fingers ghosted on his neck. Aziraphale’s hands had found their place on Crowley’s slim waist, and he waited.

“I wanted to,” Crowley choked. “I wanted to come in. Wanted…  _ you _ .”

Their eyes met, the intention unspoken but understood.

“There was an apple on my doorstep the next morning,” Aziraphale said. Crowley bit back a grin.

“What a coincidence.”

Aziraphale beamed and Crowley claimed his lips once more. He then pulled him closer, kissing a path from his lips to his ear; Aziraphale shuddered at the sensation.

“Take me upstairs with you,” Crowley breathed into his ear, and it sent shivers down his whole being. He found the yellow eyes again and nodded. 

In Athens, he’d been afraid.

In London, he knew what he wanted.

He took Crowley’s hand and led him silently up the stairs, into his bedroom, and let himself be consumed by his love.

  
  


Crowley stretched himself, conveniently forgetting the fact that he had a spine. The bed was soft under him, the blankets warm over him, and he was so very comfortable.

He had slept well. He didn’t know for how long and he didn’t really care; all he cared about was how soft everything was and how good it felt to just lie there.

He inhaled the pillows deeply and a new wave of comfort washed over him.  _ Aziraphale _ . The bed smelled like Aziraphale, he was drowned in the scent, and it was beyond his wildest dreams.

The waking world beckoned to him and he blinked his eyes open. Sunlight was pouring in from the small window. The room was bathed in warm light. Dust particles swirled in the air languidly, everything was quiet and quaint. 

He raised a brow as he noticed something dark on the floor, out of place in the light-coloured room.

His shirt.

_ Oh, well. _

He rolled onto his stomach, hugging the pillows close, and tried to recall what had happened. There’d been a lot of fighting, and-  _ oh _ .

Last night came back to him in a wave of emotions and struck him hard. They had saved Aziraphale, and Aziraphale had…

_ I love you. _

The kiss, the touches… his angel leading him to the bedroom, no trace of uncertainty left in those gorgeous eyes.

Clothes gently removed, impatiently torn off and cast on the floor, kisses and moans dripping with centuries upon centuries of want and need. 

His angel wrapped around him, a tangle of arms and legs, all soft skin and burning desire, love beyond the mortal world. 

Breathy gasps against his shoulder, fingers curling in his hair, whispered  _ I-love-yous _ , hours of worship, an eternity of adoration.

Crowley remembered falling asleep cradled against his angel’s chest, breathing in his scent, drifting off while holding on; fearing to let go.

It had been so perfect. Everything he had ever wanted, and more.

It was almost unreal.

He frowned. Had it happened at all? Where was Aziraphale?

He got up groggily and glared at the bright sun. He miracled his clothes back on and found his shades on the bedside table. A quick glance at the mirror and he sauntered downstairs.

The smell of tea and scones greeted him when he entered the shop. He followed the sweet scent to the backroom and found Aziraphale sitting in his favourite chair, a book in one hand and a cup of tea in another. The angel raised his eyes on him and gave him the fondest of smiles.

“Good morning,” he said. “Or rather, good day.”

“Yeah,” Crowley replied, licking his lips.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” was all he managed to say. He was still a bit unsure. What if he had  _ actually  _ dreamed all of last night?

“Is something the matter?” the angel laid down his book and concern marred his features.

“No,” Crowley hastened to say. “Just… I… last night. It… happened, right?”

Aziraphale smiled and set down his tea. There was a blush on his cheeks, which was really all the confirmation Crowley needed.

“I should be asking that, surely,” the angel hummed. “I’m the one who’s had to spend a bit too much time between reality and dream. But… yes.” He got up and came to him, taking his hand and placing a lingering kiss on his fingers. “It did happen.”

“G- good,” Crowley swallowed. “Because I was about to burn the world if it was only a dream.”

Aziraphale chuckled, averting his eyes. 

“No need for such drastic measures,” the angel huffed. Crowley didn’t let go of his hand.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale replied warmly. “I am. I can’t feel her presence, I’m not in pain, and I’m not mysteriously fatigued. I tried to sleep, last night. You dozed off, and I thought I should, too, so I stayed there for a few hours, but… I wasn’t tired.”

He looked almost guilty for not staying the whole night.

“That’s okay,” Crowley assured. 

Aziraphale seemed relieved to hear it. “I checked in on you a few hours ago,” he admitted bashfully. “You were sleeping so soundly that I didn’t dare to wake you.”

“Thanks,” Crowley grinned. Oh, how he loved his stupid angel.

“I was going to come and wake you, though, eventually” Aziraphale sighed, then, withdrawing his hand and returning to his tea. “Nithael did say he was coming today.”

“Eurgh,” was all Crowley managed. He threw himself on the sofa and lounged there in the least proper manner possible. Nithael and his blasted report. “He saw way too much of our past, angel.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it,” Crowley huffed. “He kind of… was the one who could get us inside your mind, so… But I did interrupt some things before they got too… you know. I don’t think he figured out our switch.”

“That’s some consolation.”

“He might have figured out a few other things,” Crowley grimaced. He hadn’t been too subtle with his damned  _ feelings _ when Aziraphale’s life had been at stake. But, knowing Heaven, Nithael had probably thought he had only tried to tempt Aziraphale, nothing more.

“Well… we’ll deal with those if it comes to it.”

“Mmh.”

Aziraphale went back to reading his book and Crowley lounged on the sofa, watching him. The angel pretended not to notice, but the subtle smile on his lips was a dead giveaway to Crowley. How could he not watch? Aziraphale was perfect. The sun in his hair gave him a halo, the clear eyes danced on the pages of a book he’d probably read a thousand times before. 

Crowley wanted nothing more than to climb into that chair with him and steal that smile with his lips, have those eyes gaze at him with the same hazy desire as last night, have that mouth whisper sweet nothings to him again and gasp with ardour. Now that he finally had his angel, wholly, completely, how could he not watch? How could he not cherish with all the burning, consuming passion of the hellfire coursing through his veins?

After all they’d been through, he just wanted to lie there and adore him.

But of course, there was another angel they had to deal with. Crowley huffed.

“What do you think Nithael will do?” he had to break the comfortable silence. Aziraphale looked at him and set the book gently in his lap.

“I don’t think he’ll want to tell Heaven quite  _ everything _ .”

“He’ll shoot himself in the wing if he tells them about us,” Crowley snorted. “Helping you and joining forces with me? Even he’s not that dumb.”

“He will have to tell them  _ something _ ,” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “Slaying Angoroth would raise his standing.”

“Nobody would believe he’d done it,” Crowley scoffed, and the angel inclined his head in silent agreement.

There was a knock on the door, and they both tensed.

Aziraphale got up and walked primly into the shop; Crowley slouched after him. He knew it was Nithael even before Aziraphale opened the door.

All too soon Nithael was sitting with them in the backroom, looking proper as ever, politely refusing tea. Aziraphale sat in his chair with his cup, and Crowley stared at Nithael from the sofa, arms crossed and mind full of suspicion.

“The sword has been safely returned,” Nithael said. “I don’t think anyone noticed.”

“Good work,” Aziraphale commended kindly. “You have been such a help to us. I can’t thank you enough.”

Nithael bowed his head with a modest smile. “I’m glad you’re doing better.”

“Much better,” Aziraphale beamed. “Still trying to piece it all together, but everything in its time.”

Nithael nodded and fell silent. Crowley sucked his teeth, eyes darting between the angels.

It was irritating. They were all there for one topic and one topic only, and the angels were too polite to approach the issue head-on.

“So,” he said loudly. “What are you gonna write in that report of yours?”

Nithael fidgeted.

“I did promise Aziraphale I would leave you two out of it,” he hummed. “And I will keep my word. These past few days have been…” he took a deep breath and let it out as nervous laughter. “Well, they have been eventful. Eye-opening.” His eyes flitted between him and Aziraphale.

“I want to apologise, Aziraphale,” he continued. “For… well, for invading your mind. I know it’s a terribly intimate thing to do, and I didn’t ask permission, but it really was the only…”

“Oh, dear boy, you are of course forgiven,” Aziraphale said earnestly. “I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t done it.”

Nithael smiled in nervous relief, but glanced at Crowley. “I… I don’t know if I should’ve taken a… demonic presence with me… but I think it turned out alright.... Didn’t it?”

Crowley was about to have a few select words with this idiot, most of them four-letter ones, but Aziraphale spoke before he managed to.

“Taking Crowley with you was the best thing you could’ve done.”

Aziraphale’s warm smile calmed Nithael, and his tense shoulders relaxed. 

“I can’t help but feel a bit… weird,” the angel mumbled, fidgeting with his scarf again. “The memories and moments I saw, I…”

“All the things you were scandalised by were not real,” Crowley butted in, “and all the things you approved of totally happened.”

Nithael raised a single, dubious brow. “Most of it was fabricated, then?”

“ _ Sssavage _ ,” Crowley hissed, leaning back and feeling quite insulted. How  _ dared  _ he judge anything Aziraphale had ever done, when his angel was the purest, best-

“Sorry,” Nithael said quickly, glancing at Aziraphale. “It’s been a lot to take in. And I really don’t know how much of it was real, how much was a nightmare… and which things Angoroth had altered.”

_ Thank Somebody for that _ , Crowley thought.

“I’m not completely oblivious,” Nithael continued, blushing furiously and averting his eyes. “I know you two are… well… more than friends.”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who glanced back before returning his gaze on Nithael again.

“I can’t say I understand it,” he said, eyes on his hands. “And a part of me still fears for your soul, Aziraphale… but I could sense the… deep affection.” He glanced at Crowley quickly.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” the angel continued hastily. “I don’t think anything would change if I did, anyway. I’m not sure how to feel about it, but… it’s really not my business to have an opinion.”

“Damn right it’s not,” Crowley muttered.

“Thank you, Nithael,” Aziraphale said with emphasis. “Frankly, I don’t know if Heaven cared, either way… but it really is none of their business, either.”

Nithael nodded. “I would tell them about Angoroth, but I can’t find a way to make it sound believable without mentioning you two.”

“She was a very powerful demon,” Aziraphale hummed. “It took all three of us to rid the world of her… if Heaven is keeping track of things, they will know she wouldn’t be easily beaten.”

“Michael will remember her,” Crowley mumbled, a faint memory of the archangel facing the Devourer towards the end of the war surfacing. He suppressed the image. “She’s not going to believe for one moment that you took her down on your own.”

“I think,” Aziraphale set down his cup, “that we should do some cleansing.”

“What?”

“What set this whole mess off?” Aziraphale smiled. “The well at Maple Hill. Let’s go back and do what we intended - cleanse the place.”

“But she’s not there anymore,” Nithael looked doubtful.

“Oh, her essence has been corrupting that well for centuries,” Crowley huffed. “You bet your arse it lingers.”

“I bet my what…?”

“Settled!” Aziraphale clapped his hands together, excited. “We cleanse the well, you write a good report on how you’ve saved the humans from demonic influence, and you won’t even need to lie.”

“Well, I suppose…”

“I suggest we get on with it, then,” Aziraphale was suddenly all energy, getting up and smiling at them. “If we go now, we’ll be back by tea-time. There’s a new place that just opened a few blocks away, and I’ve been dying to try it…”

Crowley watched his angel fuss about, gather his things, and gush about the restaurant. He couldn’t have stopped the smile spreading on his lips even if he’d tried. Only after he noticed Nithael staring did he stop - and gave the surplus angel a dirty look.

“Are we ready?” Aziraphale eyed them both.

“We?” Crowley drawled, doing his best to become a permanent part of the sofa. 

“I thought you could drive us,” Aziraphale said, his smile faltering just the slightest bit. Crowley was glad to see how mortified Nithael looked by the idea, and if he hadn’t been prepared to do anything for his angel already, Nithael’s dismay would’ve swayed his opinion for it.

“I have to have  _ that one  _ in my car again?” Crowley nodded towards Nithael, tutting distastefully.

“Really, I could take the bus-”

“Please?” Aziraphale looked at him with resolve-crumbling eyes, ignoring Nithael altogether, and Crowley fought back a grin. He got up and pretended to be vexed.

“Alright, fine,” he sighed dramatically. “But you owe me.” He watched his angel smile beautifully, and leaned closer than necessary. “I’ll be collecting my debt later tonight.”

The suggestion in his voice was obvious and Aziraphale’s cheeks turned subtly pink. Crowley had been so obvious, in fact, that the subtext wasn’t lost on Nithael, either - he looked hot and uncomfortable, and Crowley gave him a toothy grin.

“Ready to roll, Git-hael?”

“I  _ really  _ could take the bus…”

But of course, Aziraphale wouldn’t hear of it, and Crowley relished Nithael’s genuine fear as he sped along the roads, and cherished Aziraphale’s  _ please, do mind the cow, for goodness’ sake! _ and,  _ you can’t drive through there, the gate is closed! _

When Crowley pulled up right at the castle, they couldn’t ignore the car already there. Two men, probably in their early forties, were standing outside and turned to look at them as they arrived.

“Should we come back another time…?” Nithael tried to suggest.

“I’m sure we can manage them,” Aziraphale smiled reassuringly. Crowley suppressed a grin as he got out of the car and sauntered towards the men with his angel by his side. Nithael hurried after them.

“Hullo, gentlemen!” Aziraphale called brightly. “A lovely day, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” one man replied, glancing at his friend. “Uncustomarily warm, I’d say.”

They came to meet them. “Are you here to scout the place for filming, too?” the other man asked.

“Sorry?” Aziraphale raised his brows and gave them that stupidly polite  _ I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-saying-my-good-sir _ look, and Crowley had to bite his cheek to stop himself from laughing. His angel had always been good at that expression.

The men’s faces brightened a bit. The other held out his hand.

“Mike Felton,” he introduced himself. Aziraphale took his hand readily, but Crowley merely stuffed his deeper into his pockets. Mike wasn’t deterred, and went on to shake hands with Nithael, instead. “Me and my colleague Luke here -” the other man smiled and waved his hand behind Mike, “- are here to scout this place for our series about paranormal phenomena.”

“Oh, indeed?” Aziraphale’s smile was as kind and welcoming as ever. “Do you… put it on the internet?”

“No,” Mike laughed. “We still do traditional TV. The show’s called Haunted or Hallowed, you might have heard of it?”

Crowley shook his head outright. 

“I’m afraid I don’t watch a lot of television,” Aziraphale bounced on his heels a bit.

“It’s about ghost hunting, really,” Luke butted in. “We go around the country, looking for haunted locations for our team to investigate. This one has gotten quite popular online recently.”

“Oh, it’s not haunted at all,” Crowley drawled, looking as disinterested in the whole thing as possible.”

“How do you know, Mr…?”

“Crowley. Anthony Crowley.”

“A pleasure. People have experienced quite a bit of activity here, though, so…”

“Oh, I assure you, this place has no ghosts whatsoever,” Aziraphale lilted. “Mr. Crowley here should know - he’s the rightful owner of Maple Hill.”

Everyone’s eyes widened at this. Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who was smiling at him very serenely.

“Yeees,” he drawled, amused to bits. “I am. Sure am. Drives me crazy, people coming here and messing up my family’s heritage.”

He turned his gaze back on the castle. Mike and Luke looked a bit embarrassed.

“Ah,” Mike cleared his throat. “We were under the impression that the place was mostly abandoned…”

“Well, I haven’t had time to maintain this place,” Crowley hummed. “The economy, eh?”

Mike and Luke nodded and muttered something in agreement. Luke, however, frowned.

“Isn’t this castle the property of Lord Henry Haversham, who just turned eighty-six-”

“If you’d like, I’m sure Mr. Crowley would be happy to give you a tour of  _ his  _ castle,” Aziraphale interrupted brightly. Crowley raised a brow at him and the angel glanced at him with that playful spark in his eye that Crowley adored.

“What a great idea,” he narrowed his eyes at Aziraphale, fighting back a grin. He turned to look at the humans again. “Well?”

“Ah, well,” Mike stammered, glancing at Luke. “We don’t want to impose…”

“Ahh come on,” Crowley smirked. “It’ll be a thorough tour, you’ll like it.”

The humans looked at one another, but then warily agreed.

“I suggest you start at the top floors!” Aziraphale called to them as Crowley led the humans into the castle. Crowley merely waved his arm and left the angels outside.

Once inside, Mike and Luke looked around eagerly. Luke had a tablet and he was taking notes. Mike had a camera ready. They didn’t have any of the ghost hunting gear Crowley had become used to, so he surmised these two really were there only to see if the location had any potential TV appeal. The ghost hunters would probably just need to make it look believable.

“Up we go!” Crowley said loudly, his voice echoing in the entrance hall. He knew that the moment the humans were out of sight, Aziraphale and Nithael would rush to the cellar. Crowley just needed to give them time to do whatever they were going to do.

He led them to the top floor quite quickly, telling them they’d look at the rooms in more detail on their way down. They didn’t dare to argue with the assumed, if suspicious, lord of the castle.

Crowley was quite happy scaring people who filmed their experiences for the internet, but he wasn’t so sure about TV people. Television might not be a very popular medium anymore, but if something scandalous or strange happened in a TV show, people would be talking; the same happening in an online series by amateurs - nothing.

No, it was best to make these guys think the castle was the most boring thing in existence.

If they chose to show up anyway, Crowley would have nothing to do with them - as long as Angoroth’s presence was wiped from the place. Now, though, he just needed to keep them occupied.

Crowley showed them the top floor and they went through the rooms. In daylight, the place was barely creepy. He came up with bogus, mundane history about the place, and prattled on about how he was going to renovate the place and what he’d put in all the rooms.

“To think,” Crowley stood in the hallway and looked around, “that this is the only castle in England where nobody has ever died.”

“But…” Luke frowned. “Surely someone has… of old age, at least. And anyway, I read that this castle was crucial during the war of-”

“All embellished stories, I’m afraid,” Crowley shrugged. “My family knows the history, I can tell you. It’s a point of pride for us.”

The humans looked dubious. Crowley led them slowly forwards and could suddenly feel a change in the atmosphere. Something divine prickled at the edge of his consciousness, and he knew the angels had begun their work.

“I’m thinking of converting the second floor into a disco space,” Crowley declared as they arrived on the floor in question. The humans looked borderline disturbed. “Disco should never have gone out of style. Did you know I invented it?”

Crowley knew the humans were thinking he was insane. Just as well - he didn’t really have a goal, anymore. He knew the angels were working on cleansing the well, and once it was cleansed… well, no reason to stop anyone from coming.

He could tell Luke was getting increasingly suspicious. At one point, Crowley had to drain the battery in his tablet to prevent him from looking up facts about the actual owner of the castle and its actual history. As Crowley described the best disco parties he’d attended, in lengthy and unnecessary detail, he knew the humans thought they’d followed a madman.

Crowley led them slowly around, stopping by every room. Mike took a picture or a few, but he was clearly not in the mood. The castle didn’t seem very foreboding when someone was talking about the best place to hang a disco ball.

A strong wave of something divine hit Crowley, and he drew a hissing breath in the middle of his rant about flared trousers as the feeling stung him. Oh, something was definitely happening downstairs. 

“I think we should probably scout the underground areas,” Mike suggested after a while, and he and Luke edged towards the stairs. Crowley could feel the holy energy subsiding. He shrugged and followed them, overtaking them in a few strides and sauntering down the stairs before them.

In the entrance hall, they found Aziraphale and Nithael, standing there like nothing had happened. Aziraphale smiled radiantly at them all.

“Got tired of waiting outside, did you?” Crowley drawled, searching his angel’s eyes.

“Oh, it’s so nice and cool in here,” Aziraphale replied. “The weather really is scorching.”

“Where was that cellar?” Luke asked, looking around. “Lots of activity there, apparently.”

Aziraphale glanced at him. “I do believe it was that way,” he waved his hand generously towards the entry, and Crowley could but assume they had cleansed the well. “Mind your step - it’s quite run-down in there.”

As Mike and Luke went to investigate, Aziraphale nodded eagerly to Crowley, who grinned in reply. They all followed the humans, and the angels were disgustingly pleased with themselves as they neared the well and nobody commented on feeling anything sinister.

“Wow,” Luke hummed as he looked at the well. “Looks unsafe.”

“Makes for good material, though,” Mike commented. “It’s just the kind of place. You can just imagine something crawling up that pit, can’t you?”

“Rather,” Aziraphale said with a bit of a strain in his smile. “But falling down there would be quite an unfortunate thing to happen, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, we’d need proper precautions,” Luke bit his lip. “Still, good stuff…”

The humans turned away and began examining the cells leading up to the well. Aziraphale and Nithael followed, but Crowley lagged behind. He knew Aziraphale was worried of people falling down the well, or perhaps purposefully going down and ending up in Angoroth’s den - and who knew how much that place still reeked of her.

The humans and angels got the fright of their life as the cellar suddenly shook, and with an infernal rumble, a large chunk of the ceiling crumbled down, taking a minor wall with it, collapsing the whole room with the well in it.

As dust settled, Mike and Luke stared at the scene in absolute horror. Nithael’s eyes were as wide as saucers and Aziraphale glanced at Crowley - he knew, of course.

“Health and Safety would have a field day, honestly,” Crowley drawled, hands in his pockets and eyes on the rubble.

“I think we should leave,” Aziraphale suggested, and the humans didn’t need to be told twice. 

In the end, Mike and Luke decided that the castle wasn’t really what they were looking for and the cellar was really too unsafe to send people to.

Crowley waved mockingly cheerily at the humans as they drove away in their car, and the three of them stood on the front steps of the castle.

“Well,” Aziraphale hummed happily. “That went according to plan.”

“I’m going to have to start on my report,” Nithael sighed.

“It’ll be fine,” Aziraphale smiled. “This will last you a while. Not every report needs to be full of glorious, heroic deeds, and this is a very good start.”

“Yeah, slack off after this,” Crowley crossed his arms. “Just take credit for the things humans already do… and besides, embellishing the facts never hurt anyone.”

“Oh, really?” Aziraphale gave him a withering look.

Fine, so maybe embellishing and stealing credit didn’t always work out the way you wanted it to, but it was still a perfectly valid way of winning acclaim. He shrugged, and his angel shook his head exasperatedly.

“You’ll be fine,” Aziraphale said to Nithael. “Just keep it simple and true.”

“Just not  _ too  _ true,” Crowley warned. “If you know what’s good for you.”

“I already promised to leave you out of it,” Nithael pursed his lips.

“And we are very grateful,” Aziraphale assured him. He turned his face to the sun and let out a happy breath. “Such lovely weather. The new restaurant has a sky bar - it will be perfect, I’m sure.”

“I can already taste the champagne,” Crowley grinned. “Alright, get in.”

He swung himself in the driver’s seat and Aziraphale was about to follow him to the car. Nithael, however, stayed put. Aziraphale looked at him quizzically.

“I think I would rather find my own way back,” he said almost apologetically. “I have a lot to think about, and the weather is quite beautiful.”

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale seemed a bit concerned. “It’s quite a walk back to London…”

“I’m sure,” Nithael smiled. “Thank you for everything.”

“Well,” Aziraphale clasped his hands together and fiddled with his ring. “Do come by, sometime.”

“Just not often!” Crowley called from the car.

“You’re welcome  _ any  _ time,” Aziraphale said, ignoring Crowley’s angry huff. “But do be careful. I’m sure Heaven would prefer if you didn’t associate with me.”

Crowley hated to hear the hurt in his angel’s voice at the words, but what he said was true. And Crowley was determined to make Aziraphale’s existence on Earth so sublime that it would wipe the hurt away from him forever.

“Angel, let’s go,” he called and shut the door. Aziraphale nodded warmly to Nithael and hurried to the car - Crowley miracled the door open for him and tried to pretend like he didn’t notice the angel’s affectionate smile at the gesture.

As Crowley drove away, Nithael stood alone by the castle, waving his hand like an abandoned child.  _ Stupid angel. _

But - and Crowley was loathe to admit it - Nithael had been a massive help. Not that he’d ever say it out loud.

“He’ll be a good influence, I think,” Aziraphale hummed. Crowley was driving slower than usual, so the angel was a much calmer passenger than usual. “Nithael, I mean. He’ll learn about humanity, and I’m sure he’ll do his all to protect them.”

“What do you think was the real reason Heaven sent him?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale looked at him, bewildered at first, but then glancing away with a sigh.

“Nithael said he didn’t ask for this job,” the angel mused. “I rather think that they just wanted someone down here… because the other side might do the same. For balance.”

“They don’t want Hell having an edge,” Crowley scoffed. “And there’s a thought… I wonder if Beelz has replaced me already. There’s always plenty of demons visiting up here for work, but I mean, if someone has been sent in my place specifically. Long-term.”

“Just keep your eyes open.”

“Goes for you, too,” Crowley snorted. “Nithael is too much of a coward to attack me and seems to like you, but the one Hell might send? Probably not a fan of me, and even less a fan of you. Be careful.”

Aziraphale shifted in his seat. “We’ll deal with that if necessary.”

“All I’m saying,” Crowley went on, speeding up a bit, “is maybe you should keep some holy water at hand. You know. Just in case.”

Aziraphale looked pained as he turned towards Crowley. “Oh, I would rather not - I don’t like the idea of it being anywhere near y-  _ sheep!! _ ”

“They’re fine,” Crowley drawled as he drove straight through a herd of sheep; it parted like the Red Sea before the Bentley. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a soft voice as the herd joined behind them. “I just need you to know…. well. I remember saying some things when Angoroth was in my head. The things I saw… the things I saw done to you.” He swallowed, staring ahead. “But I did mean what I said. I would do anything to save you. I would defy Heaven again, and I would endure Hell again. Because this is where I belong. On Earth, until the end. With you.”

The angel’s eyes shone bright as Crowley met his gaze. The rush of love coursing through him dried his mouth and froze him in his place. He remembered Aziraphale’s anguished pleas for his life in the Hell of his imagination. The angel needn’t have said anything now - Crowley already knew, already felt the same, but the words were so hard to get out; they stuck in his throat, the sea of feelings he could never truly describe.

“I love you,” was what he blurted out - there was no eloquence in the words, they weren’t said in a tender fashion, and if anyone else had heard them they would’ve thought them callous; but Aziraphale’s whole being melted with affection at the words, because he knew the raw, true feeling behind them.

The rest of the way, Crowley drove in his customary, angel-scaring fashion, and it was a perfectly pleasant ride back home.


	15. The Epilogue

Monkey had obviously forgotten about his meltdown at Maple Hill, judging by the eager nervousness with which he entered an abandoned asylum with his ghost hunter friends. They were filming a little intro to their video at the entrance, completely unaware of the two celestial beings preparing for the night with them.

“I don’t understand why they can’t do this during daytime,” Aziraphale grumbled. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that? Nobody’s afraid of an old building in daylight.”

“But it’s dinner time.”

“We’ll have a late-night snack, stop whining,” Crowley groaned. “But if you want to leave, be my guest. I can take care of these kids on my own.” He smirked purposefully wickedly as he sauntered a bit closer to the young humans. Aziraphale huffed and pursed his lips, and Crowley knew the game was still on.

“I’m not leaving them to you,” the angel tutted. “Poor things.”

Crowley grinned at him.

Things had gone great since the whole Angoroth incident, if Crowley was asked. After a few months, nobody had come asking questions, not from up above or from down below. They’d been left alone, and they’d made the best of their time.

It was a whole new existence for them, or so it felt. Everything was so familiar and yet so new and exciting. Crowley had gotten his wish to see Aziraphale more than once a week, and while he still kept and occupied his flat, he spent a lot of time in the bookshop with his angel.

Sometimes it felt like they were relearning how to interact with one another. There was a new layer to their relationship and Crowley found immense pleasure in exploring that. It was new, it was exhilarating, and he couldn’t believe they’d waited this long to get there.

Loving his angel so freely, and being loved and known so fully in return, was better than he could’ve ever dreamed of.

He loved spending evenings draped on Aziraphale’s shoulders in his snake form, watching the angel reading a book and snacking on chocolates.

He loved how Aziraphale stayed in bed with him until he fell asleep, though the angel never slept himself.

He loved teasing his angel every chance he got, and the pout that followed after.

He loved that after everything, Aziraphale still looked at him with those bright eyes as if seeing him anew.

And he loved how his angel still managed to stun him into silence with that look.

Nithael had come by the bookshop once, but Crowley hadn’t been there to witness it. He’d smelled him immediately when entering the shop later that day, though, and Aziraphale had told him that the other angel had only come for a courtesy call. Nithael had also announced that he had taken to having a single cup of green tea at a cafe every afternoon - so that he could fit in while observing the humans.

Aziraphale had considered it a personal victory; nobody could resist tea for long, he claimed.

Crowley spied on Nithael a few times after that (Aziraphale might have called it stalking if Crowley had told him) and was satisfied to see that the angel didn’t seem to be up to anything strange. He was still awkward and nervous, but clearly starting to learn the ropes. Judging by his expression when he sipped his tea, he still hadn’t quite become used to the taste.

Crowley thought he’d seen one particular demon a few more times than normal. He hadn’t often run into other demons at work, before. Thus, he had a feeling someone had been sent to work his old turf.

So far, they hadn’t bothered him or even followed him. Crowley wasn’t sure if he should make contact or not, but figured he might as well if the situation arose. For now, though, he was perfectly happy with focusing all his energy to his plants, his Bentley, and his angel.

And, of course, his hobby.

To his immense joy, Aziraphale had let himself be convinced into joining Crowley on the ghost hunting gigs. It had turned the whole thing into a gleeful competition - Crowley did his best to creep the humans out, and Aziraphale in turn would do his all to pacify them and have them convinced there was nothing strange going on at all.

“Guys, I have a bad feeling about this place,” Ron laughed nervously the moment he entered the asylum. Crowley raised a brow at this and glanced at Aziraphale, who merely smiled sympathetically.

“Told you before,” Crowley shrugged. “He does that every time. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

The humans proceeded to walk down a dark hallway, their voices nervous whispers. Crowley began his work with a cold gust of wind brushing past them. The humans gasped.

“What the hell,” Monkey breathed. “Did you feel that?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and miracled open a window nearby.

“Just the wind, guys,” Harriet said and pointed to the window. They all chuckled their fright away.

“Yeah, well, that was too easy,” Crowley crossed his arms. “Just you wait.” The angel raised his brows and followed the humans, pleased with himself.

The group continued their exploration, and when they entered a room which looked like it had been an operating space of some kind, Crowley scratched the wall; the sound seemed incredibly loud in the silence.

“What was that?” Wes mumbled behind the camera.

Aziraphale soon countered this by having a rat scutter across the floor and out the door. Monkey actually screamed.

“Just a rat,” Harriet giggled with her hand on her chest and her heart beating rather loudly.

“I think that rat scared them more than what I did,” Crowley hummed.

“But rats are definitely not supernatural,” the angel retorted. “Points to me.”

“We don’t issue points in this,” Crowley snorted. “Only the end result matters. Stop making up rules on the go.”

They continued like that as the humans kept exploring. Crowley came up with things to scare them - a gust here, chills there, noises all over - and Aziraphale did his best to counter them all. Crowley enjoyed himself immensely. He noticed the angel walked near Monkey often, no doubt making sure he wasn’t too overcome by fear.

It was sickeningly endearing. Aziraphale was literally being his guardian angel.

When the humans brought out the radio thing, Crowley inserted some very ominous words and gurgles into it. Aziraphale tried to fight back by having the radio play a non-threatening tune; unfortunately for him, he chose a children’s tune none other than  _ Ring a Ring o' Roses _ , which made the humans lose their minds.

“But it’s a children’s song,” Aziraphale frowned, confused, as the humans were more spooked than before.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley laughed. “You’re out of the loop. That’s probably the scariest thing you could’ve played for them in here. Points to me!”

“We don’t issue points,” Aziraphale pouted as they followed the gang to yet another location.

Crowley had so much fun coming up with interesting ways to mess with the humans, and revelled in thinking of ways to scare them which wouldn’t be easy for Aziraphale to counter. It was oddly exciting despite being so slow-paced; it was a battle of wits and imagination, and the angel was a good match.

This time, Crowley felt like he was winning. The humans had been exploring for a couple of hours and they were getting properly scared. Aziraphale was looking rather put-off by the situation and Crowley couldn’t resist but catch him in a kiss when the humans stopped to fiddle with their equipment.

Aziraphale may have surrendered to the kiss, but he wasn’t surrendering the game, as Crowley soon came to find out. He was so lost in the sensations, his angel soft in his arms and warm on his lips, that he barely registered what the humans were saying.

“It’s actually not a bad place at all,” Harriet sighed.

Aziraphale’s hands holding him gently, their bodies pressed together…

“Despite its history, I’m sure people also got better here, you know?” Ron hummed. “I feel like… like there probably was love here, too.”

_ Wait a minute… _

Crowley broke the kiss and frowned at the humans. They were looking far too serene all of a sudden, and what was this talk about -

He turned his eyes on Aziraphale, still firmly in his arms. The angel looked smug beyond belief.

“You bastard,” Crowley huffed. “Stop radiating love everywhere, that’s unfair!”

Aziraphale’s smile was both coy and cunning as he looked up at Crowley. “I can’t help it,” he whispered innocently - as if. “Besides, it was your fault, really. You made me do it.”

“Ngh,” Crowley threw his arms up in frustration. Aziraphale kept smiling annoyingly smugly as the humans began walking calmly towards the exit. “You wicked bastard.” 

To emphasise his statement, Crowley gave the angel a quick, hungry kiss before dashing off after the gang to see if there was anything to salvage about the situation.

There wasn’t. All of them were in very good spirits and Monkey was telling them about the volunteer work he’d started doing at an old folks’ home. Crowley hissed in defeat as he watched them pack up their things and leave. Aziraphale was soon by his side, serene and pleased with himself.

“Did I win?” he asked as if he had no idea.

“You play dirty.”

“Well, you were trying to distract me,” Aziraphale retorted.

“Ah, well,” Crowley sighed as he watched the humans drive away. “It was worth it.”

He didn’t even have to look to know the angel was beaming bashfully.

“You mentioned late-night snacks earlier?”

Crowley’s irritation dissipated instantly. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale glanced at the sky with a little smile, slipping his hand in Crowley’s. “It’s a beautiful night. The sky is clear. Hot cocoa and sandwiches would be lovely… a sort of a nighttime picnic.”

Crowley was a bit surprised that the angel wanted to stay outside; the weather was no longer warm, especially during the night, but he had a point. The sky was clear and they could see the stars if they went far enough from the city.

“Your wish is my command,” he said, leading Aziraphale to the car. As they drove out, a basket containing cocoa, sandwiches and their favourite tartan wool blanket miraculously appeared in the back seat.

Perhaps they drove a bit further than necessary, and if anyone had noticed them, they would surely have broken every speed limit and law in existence, including the one of physics; but the view on the southern coast was stunning as they sat on the cliffs, the starlit sky reflected on the dark sea.

Crowley watched the constellations and saw ones he’d helped make. It almost made him melancholy, thinking about those times and how there was no returning to it, but... no. He didn’t need that. Hadn’t needed that for the longest time. Ancient history, that, and as he sat there next to Aziraphale, the blanket wrapped around them both, and as the angel leaned on his shoulder and let out a content sigh, Crowley knew this was better than anything that had come before.

Whatever would come after, they would endure. And even if the Earth melted, the stars exploded, and Heaven and Hell consumed one another, they would still stand together, as they had done for millennia; to the very end.

But the end was not now. He watched the stars he’d made before the beginning and kissed his angel’s fluffy hair. Warm fingers laced between his own and the world was silent. It was yet another beginning, and the stars had never shined brighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! <3 
> 
> If you liked the stuff in the memory sections, you may want to check out my other fic, [Our Time in the Sun.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22614175/chapters/54045163)  
> I couldn't help myself and decided to write your basic journey-through-history story with most of the memory scenes included (extended and edited). Check it out if it's your thing! :)


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